


Hear it in your Silence

by qwanderer, SciFiSlashFreak



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Archery, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Food, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, RP, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciFiSlashFreak/pseuds/SciFiSlashFreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t need backup, I am the backup. And I thought I could handle that. I thought I could keep my distance unless I was needed. It’s not like it’s really <em>me</em> that’s out there fighting with all of you.” His eyes flicked to Clint, and then away. “Turns out I can’t.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story of our tumblr roleplay, all neatened and lined up so it's easier to read.
> 
> We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it!

Clint groaned as he and the rest of the team all but limped into Avengers Tower. The day's battle had been long and bloody. All Clint wanted was a hot shower, some pain meds, and roughly 100 years of sleep. He saw Bruce tired and weary like the rest of them and headed his way. “Hey Bruce,” he said, his usual smirk in place. “I just wanted to say thanks. If Hulk hadn’t caught me I’d be a smear on the road right now.”

Bruce scowled as he filled the kettle and put it on the stove. “In that case you’re far too careless with your life. I don’t suppose you could manage to stop falling from high places?” He lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. He always ached all over after an incident, but the headaches were the worst part. “The Other Guy might not always decide to catch you.”

Clint raised an eyebrow before shrugging. “I guess careless is a good word,” he agreed. “I assessed the situation and knew the options were to save Natasha or me. It was an easy choice.” He smirked again. “Besides, my ass still got saved in the end. Thanks to you.”

Bruce shook his head. “I suppose I can’t fault you for wanting to save someone else. Sometimes I wish I could remember what all happens when I’m… not myself.” He put two peppermint teabags into a teapot and poured the boiling water over them. “But most of the time, what I do remember, I wish I didn’t. He’s dangerous, Clint, and unpredictable, and I’m not entirely comfortable with people thanking me for the things he does.”

Clint nodded. “I… I get that. When I… When Loki was in my head….” He looked down. “Well, I wish I didn’t remember that.” He looked back up, the smirk back on his face, if a little forced. “I think… with you, though… I’ve seen the difference from when you fight it and when you become him willingly. When you fight it, Hulk is out of control, yeah, he doesn’t save people. But when you do it, when you let it happen… it’s like you have a bit of control. Saving people… that’s all you, Bruce. That’s why I thanked YOU and not the Other Guy.”

Bruce cringed a bit at that. “Ah… I shouldn’t complain, I guess. I did this to myself, after all. You, you didn’t ask for any of this.” He poured himself a cup of tea, gesturing to the pot with an offering sort of motion. “So in the end, yes, I’m responsible for everything the Hulk does, good and bad. I can’t know… and I don’t always want to know… how much of that is somehow ME. How much of it could have been changed if I was a different person somehow, a better person.”

Clint poured himself a cup, shrugging “I joined SHIELD on my own. Mind control wasn’t exactly in the brochure but,” he made a ‘What can you do’ motion. “And if anything I think you keep him from doing any more damage. I think about the Hulk set loose, no Bruce Banner to hold him back.” He shuddered. “You’re a good man, Bruce. Don’t let the Other Guy convince you otherwise.”

Bruce sipped his tea, letting the warmth relax him and the smell of the mint soothe his headache. “I’m going to let that go for now, although I don’t concede the point. You may have been saved from being flattened on the pavement, but you still look pretty banged up. Did I… did the Other Guy do much damage when he caught you?”

Clint took a sip of his own, looking down at the cuts and bruises on his body. “These are nothing, shoulda seen me after Budapest.” he flashed a roguish grin. “As for the Other Guy, the most damage he caused was wrenching my shoulder.” He winced as he tried to roll said shoulder, shooting his teammate a strained smile, trying to play off the pain as nothing.

“Here, let me take a look.” Bruce frowned and walked over to Clint’s side, taking hold of his arm and probing the shoulder with gentle fingers. “You should probably be icing this. There’s some swelling.”

Clint tensed slightly before relaxing into the doctor’s gentle touch. “I’ve had worse,” he assured.

Bruce nodded. “And I’m sure you will again. Now _ice_.” He walked over to the freezer to hunt down the components of a cold compress. “Any other similarly negligible injuries you’re ignoring, or is Hulk the worst thing that happened to you today?”

Clint sighed. “Doc, it’s not a big deal,” he insisted, but could tell that he was convincing no one. He sighed. “I may have done some damage to my leg,” he admitted as he pulled up his pants leg, revealing a relatively deep gash and some nasty colored bruises around the knee. “I swear it looks worse than it is.”

Bruce’s breath hissed through his teeth as he looked. “How are you not dead, you idiot.” He surveyed the damage more closely. “Move over to the couch. That needs cleaning out and probably stitches.” He handed over the ice compress before going to retrieve the first aid kit.

Clint shrugged his good shoulder. ”It’s not like I wasn’t going to take care of it at some point,” he defended himself. “I mean jumping from building to building isn’t as easy as I make it look.” He gestured to some of the older bruises. “I always take care of it eventually.” He felt bad for causing the man so much grief over a few scrapes and bruises.

Bruce sighed. “‘Eventually’ is not good enough. ‘Eventually’ is what leads to infections and complications. Believe me, I have seen that kind of shit enough times when someone genuinely couldn’t get to a doctor when they were first injured. I don’t want to see it when I was there to stop it from happening. Now get.” He made a shooing motion in the direction of the couch.

Clint sighed as he went over to the couch “Alright, Doc, you’re the boss.” He smirked as he sat down, propping his leg up.

“Good.” Bruce examined the gash carefully as he dabbed at it with a wet towel. “This is pretty deep, but at least it’s a cleaner cut than it looks like. I can glue on some butterfly bandages if you’d rather avoid stitches. But you have to promise not to go running around pulling it open.”

Clint shrugged. “I’m good either way. But I can’t guarantee anything with the whole running thing. If the team needs me to run around and tear it open,” he shrugged. “But I _can_ promise to do my best.”

“Better go with stitches then.” Bruce got things ready. There were all the supplies he needed here; local anesthetic was not always a luxury available in the places he’d practiced, but even after he administered it, he figured his usual technique of distraction couldn’t hurt. “So tell me. Other than shooting aliens and jumping off buildings, what do you do with your time?”

Clint chuckled. “I’m a simple guy, really. Give me my bow and a beer and I’ll be happy. I’ll also be bored.” he smirked. “You know, I used to be in the circus, me and my brother. Carson Circus. Before SHEILD. Those were good times.”

“Sounds interesting,” Bruce said jovially as he stitched. “Is that where you learned archery?”

Clint nodded, “Yeah, when Barney and I joined up I caught the eye of a few people. They started training me.” He smiled. “As soon as I picked up a bow… I knew that I never wanted to stop.”

Bruce smiled. “That sounds nice. I never had a skill like that, one that was just natural for me. Sometimes I just feel like I don’t fit quite right in my body, like it’s the wrong size or shape? Kind of makes sense now, I guess.”

“I like your shape just fine, Doc,” Clint said with a playful wink, wincing in slight discomfort as the stitching continued. “Besides, who needs skills with a bow when you have that giant brain of yours.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together in a sort of fascinated disbelief. “If you say so. And my brain mostly seems to get me into trouble.” He finished the stitches and started to clean up.

“I do say so,” Clint smirked as he rolled down his pants leg. “And everybody’s talents get them into trouble. It’s like… an unwritten law of the universe.”

Bruce gave a little rueful smile. “I guess that’s true. The most brilliant people are the ones who get into the most spectacular trouble.” He sighed. “A nice, normal life would be nice.”

Clint laughed. “Normal is overrated. Actually… pretty sure it doesn’t even exist.” He gave a small smile.

“Right.” Bruce washed his hands and put away the kit, then sat down heavily on the couch. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”

Clint nodded. “Kinda funny when you think about it. Everyone else wants to be like us. You know, a ‘Super Hero.’ But everyone here - we all wanna be like everyone else.”

“More than anything.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Not that my life has ever been normal. I guess that’s a factor. You want what you can’t have.”

“I don’t think you can do what we do and have ever felt ‘normal,’” Clint said.

Bruce let out a long breath and sort of collapsed into the couch. “I guess none of us has a choice. Suddenly you’re the only person in the world who can do a certain thing. We can’t just walk away. All I ever want to do is get away from things. God, I’m tired.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, it sucks. But at the same time we have the best job in the world. I mean we get to go out and save people everyday,” he shrugged. “Can’t say that isn’t rewarding.” He smiled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.” He patted his friend on the arm as he stood up. “You should get some rest, Doc, you’ve earned it.”

Bruce blinked slowly. “Definitely a long day.” He sighed as he stood up. “And okay, maybe it’s a good thing I was here today to save your idiot ass.” He chuckled softly and shook his head. “I’m still not used to getting _good_ news about what the Other Guy’s done while I’ve been out.”

“Definitely glad for the ass saving.” He gave a sly grin, then, as he turned. “I mean, can you imagine the tears that would be spilled if this was no longer in the world?” He gestured to said ass, hoping to get a chuckle, hell, even a smile out of the doctor.

Bruce laughed, tiredly but earnestly. “It is pretty magnificent, at that. I’m surrounded by beautiful people.” He closed his eyes, rubbing at them. “Yep. Sleep would be good.”

Clint smirked. “Yeah, but at least you fit right in.” He gave a wink. “I’ll let you get some sleep, Doc. Thanks again.”

“Good night,” said Bruce, shuffling away to his bed, and for once he slept peacefully after an incident, in a familiar place. It was almost like having a home.

-

Clint woke up sometime past noon; he hadn’t gotten the 100 years he wanted, but a solid 12 hours would do.

He rolled his shoulder and found, while stiff, the pain was no more. His leg was looking better as well.

After he was done with the usual morning injury check, he put on a shirt and headed out to the common area in search of food.

When he arrived he saw Bruce sitting on the couch, book in hand. “Hey Doc,” he said with a smirk. “You look better. Good sleep?”

Bruce looked up, nodding cordially, holding the place in his book with a finger. “Better than I expected. How about you? Is the shoulder better, or worse? Stitches holding up?”

“Glad to hear it,” he said sincerely. “Pain’s gone; moving it is a chore, though,” he answered. “And the stitches are holding; you do good work, Doc.” He gave a small smile.

Bruce took off his glasses to look at Clint with concern. “Pretty stiff? Guess you’ll be out of commission for a while, then. You never did answer me, what you do when you’re not shooting.”

Clint waved the idea of him not bring able to work off. “I’ll be fine.” He sat next to him. “It’s nothing really interesting. Watch TV or movies, mostly comedy things to lighten the mood; life tends to get too serious. I sleep, and most of the time… well, sometimes I get a beer, get to high ground and just… look at the sky.” He gave a one shoulder shrug. “Like I said, nothing interesting.”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know how I’d cope without something to occupy my attention.” He chuckled darkly. “I guess even when you’re by yourself, your experience depends on the quality of the company.”

“I don’t really think when I’m up there… just… feel.” He gave a sheepish sort of smile before melting back into his usual smirk. “Personally, Doc, I think yours is the most quality of company.”

“Really?” Bruce raised his eyebrows skeptically. “That’s, uh…that’s an unusual opinion you have there. And maybe a dangerous one.”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe so, but it’s true.” He smiled. “Never get bored, always learn something or really think on something. That spells quality company to me.”

Bruce let his eyes drift down to his book again. “Right.” His face scrunched in thought. “Ok. I’ve got to take into account that this is coming from a guy who makes a habit of jumping off buildings. The danger is probably part of the appeal for you.”

Clint chuckled. “I wouldn’t call it an appeal exactly, but it’s definitely not a deterrent. And yeah, maybe that’s because my idea of a good time is jumping from buildings and being as high up as I can be.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “Doesn’t change the fact that I like hanging out with you.”

Bruce smiled again, somewhat unwillingly. “All right, all right. It’s your choice, I suppose.” He set down his book. 

Clint laughed. “You don’t take compliments very well, do ya, Doc?” He stood. “I’m gonna grab something to eat,” he said as he headed to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. “Want anything?”

“I’m not _used_ to compliments, I guess.” Bruce shuffled into the kitchen after Clint. “I don’t know, I could eat. What are you having?”

“Well we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Clint said as he looked at what they had. “Well, have your pick, Doc. We have left over Chinese, left over pizza, frozen pizza, some Mexican food… we have a lot of left over takeout, basically,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“Hmm.” Bruce came over to look into the fridge himself, picking through the selection. He picked up a container of rice, one of steamed vegetables, and a bunch of other odds and ends. He put them in a pan with some spices, and they began to heat up.

He let out a low whistle. “And he can cook, ladies and gentlemen!” He began applauding, hoping to lighten the mood.

Bruce chuckled. “I know a bit. And I don’t like wasting food, so I’ve ended up with some really strange combinations. I’m really not sure if this would taste good to anyone else.” He scooped half of the concoction into a bowl, then gestured to the rest. “But then again, I guess you are a risk taker. Right?”

Clint smiled at Bruce’s laugh; he shrugged, serving himself up some of it. “Can’t be worse than Natasha’s cooking,” he said before taking a bite. “Hm… interesting.” He took another bite. “Not too bad actually.”

Bruce chewed thoughtfully. “Agreed, although I have had some very bad food in my time.” He glanced at Clint. “What’s your least favorite food in the entire world? Something you can’t stand.”

“Asparagus,” he said immediately. “Call me cliché but I hate the things.” He took another bite. “I’m more of eat with your hands guy if I have the option.” He took another bite. “Mm, yanno I think this is actually tasting better with every bite.” He shrugged and took another bite.

Bruce nodded. “I can see how the slime factor could be an issue, for someone who works with their hands so much.” He pushed the stray grains of rice together with his fork. “Mine is definitely tempeh. Out of all the foods that have been invented by letting your food go bad and having something else eat it before you, tempeh is the foulest I have ever tasted.”

He nodded. “Slime does not belong on food,” he said. He made a disgusted face. “I agree, there is nothing appetizing about it.” he took another bite. “Okay, favorite food of all time?”

Bruce bit his lip. “That is a harder question,” he said. “In general I just like food. Mmmm… I can’t pick. Solid tie between black cherry chocolate chip ice cream and the perfect authentic soft taco with chicken and lots of cilantro. And that’s after I’ve taken tea out of the equation and categorized it separately from food. Which, come to think of it, ginger tea sounds good about now.” Bruce moved to put on the kettle. “What about you? Most favorite food?”

“Mmm,” Clint moaned. “I am with you on the ice cream, Doc. But I’m gonna have to choose pizza overall. A nice large stuffed crust pizza with a ridiculously unhealthy amount of cheese and just about everything on it.” He gave a crooked grin.

Bruce grinned back, slightly awkwardly. “Pizza would have been my guess. You just seem like a pizza kind of guy.”

“Am I really so predictable?” he asked with a short laugh. He took another bite. “Favorite book?”

“Not in a bad way. I did mention I could use more comfortably normal things in my life, right?” Bruce threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the spot where he had set down his book. “Anyway right now Stranger in a Strange Land is my favorite. Rereading it is always fun.”

“Comfortably normal, huh? I was thinking I was more ‘devilishly handsome.’ But comfortably normal works too,” he said, playful smirk in place. “I’m not the biggest reader but I’ve always been a fan of the great adventure stories.”

“You can definitely be both,” Bruce said, looking at Clint sidelong, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And yeah, Heinlein has some great adventure, but Stranger is so much more than that. It’s a whole philosophy of living in the story of one man’s life.”

Clint smiled, pleasantly surprised at Bruce’s returned flirtation. “I actually don’t think I’ve read that book, like I said not the biggest reader but… I’d like to give it a try. If you don’t mind lending it to me, that is.”

“No problem,” he replied. “It’s… uh. Well, _I_ think it’s fascinating. But then I factor large numbers in my head to keep myself occupied. I’m not exactly representative of the larger audience.” Bruce shuffled around a little before he remembered what he had been doing and poured himself some ginger tea.

“I throw raisins at Thor’s head to keep me occupied,” Clint said in a mock whisper as if divulging his greatest secret. He gave the other man a playful smirk and wink. “But when you’re finished rereading it, yeah, I’d love to give it a try.”

Bruce laughed outright at that. “Any success in taking down the God of Thunder with precision dried fruit projectiles?”

Clint gave a sad sigh. “Not yet. But one day the raisins shall be victorious!” he proclaimed, enjoying the sound of Bruce’s laughter.

“Maybe under exactly the right conditions,” Bruce said, still chuckling. He took a sip of his ginger tea, then looked up at Clint again with one eyebrow raised. “You watch much Mythbusters?”

“Its day of reckoning is upon us,” he said sagely before laughing. “Hm, yeah sometimes. Its pretty cool. Especially when they blow things up.” He smiled. “That’s my kinda science.”

“My favorites are the ones where they find things they didn’t expect,” Bruce said. “But the explosion ones are cool too. You ever see the one where they experimented with grease fires? Or the coffee creamer cannon? Things in your kitchen are unexpectedly deadly.” Bruce chuckled. “Kinda like me.”

He nodded with a chuckle. “Yeah, but I must say I prefer you to coffee creamer,” he said, shaking his head at the comparison.

“More volatile and providing much more of your required daily nutrition,” Bruce joked. 

Clint laughed. “Indeed, far superior to any creamer!” he proclaimed. “That’s you alright.” He gave a smirk.

Bruce’s smile turned sad, and he took a long breath as he stared into his teacup. “This is a really really bad idea,” he said. “Encouraging you to be around me, to get… attached.”

Clint rolled his eyes. ”This again? Doc, I like talking with you. And I swear I don’t plan on making you angry.” He smiled. “Listen, if you can honestly say that you don’t like hanging out and talking with me… well, I guess I’ll leave you alone.” He frowned even at the idea but he wasn’t going to inflict his presence on the guy.

“No, that’s….” Bruce turned away, sighing, his fingers clenching around his teacup. “Damn it, why can’t I just lie,” he said in an undertone.

Clint smiled at his answer. “Listen, Doc, you’re part of a team now. You gotta get it through that genius brain of yours that it means you have some back up, and with that usually comes attachment. And that a certain devilishly handsome, comfortably normal archer who shall not be named might like talking to you.”

“A team. Right.” Bruce put his cup down on the counter and wrapped his hands tightly around the edge of the surface. “I don’t need backup, I am the backup. And I thought I could handle that. I thought I could keep my distance unless I was needed. It’s not like it’s really _me_ that’s out there fighting with all of you.” His eyes flicked to Clint, and then away. “Turns out I can’t.”

Clint hesitated before placing a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You’re not just back up… and to be honest I’m glad you couldn’t.” He sighed. “Listen, none of us are saints… except maybe Steve.” He gave a small smile. “But we all have our own version of the other guy. Yours… yours is just a bit more obvious.”

The archer’s hand on his shoulder felt odd. Not startling - not after the constant barrage of prodding and back-slapping Tony’d been subjecting him to. Bruce breathed into the sensation, trying to figure out how he felt about it. Until Clint’s words made him turn and stare.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he said, his voice grinding just a bit, “what you have in you that is anything like the Hulk.”

Clint took his hand off, eyes narrowed. “I’ve killed people, Bruce. Some bad, some good. I wish I could say the good ones were only when I was under Loki’s control… but I won’t lie to you to make myself feel better. And I don’t have a big green giant to fault for the lives I’ve taken.”

Bruce lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I just…” He took a deep breath. “It bothers me when it seems like people aren’t taking the Other Guy seriously. That’s a good way to get killed.” He lifted his head to look at Clint again. “So when you say we’re the same, I just want to be sure that you understand what that means.”

“Just because I don’t run from you because of him doesn’t mean I don’t take the Hulk seriously. I get how dangerous he is. And I would _never_ say I understand because there’s no way I ever could.” He sighed. “But you’re not the only one with a monster inside…. Mine is just metaphorical.”

Bruce smiled, one of his smiles that expressed more pain than anything else. “And it’s not huge, green and obvious. No one knows unless you let them. So tell me about it.”

He hesitated; he’d never really _told_ anyone, if people knew it, they just had access to his file. He sat down “Alright, only fair I suppose. I’ve seen your monster.” He sighed “I uh… I don’t really know where to start.”

Bruce chewed on his lip before speaking. “The Hulk didn’t come out of nowhere. There are a lot of reasons I am who I am and most of them are from before the accident.” He poured himself more tea, and then sat down next to Clint. “I’m guessing the beginning’s not a bad place to start.”

He nodded. “I guess the beginning would be the car accident. I, uh.. I wasn’t very old, seven or so. Anyway me and my big brother Barney spent six years in an orphanage. And then Barney had the idea to run away and I followed, skip in my step, smile on my face. And then… we ended up at Carson’s Circus.” He sighed “I’m sorry, Doc, I need a drink for this.” He got up and got himself a beer. “Want anything?”

“I’m all right,” Bruce said, indicating his tea.

“Way to throw a wrench in my stalling plan, Doc,” he said as he sat down putting the beer on the table. “Anyway, me and Barney got to the circus, did some odd jobs, we were happy. Then I was offered an apprentice job from the Swordsman, Jacques Duquesne, who according to him used to be the most amazing performer but when I knew him he was just a drunk with a gambling problem. But he taught me how to work with a blade… so I guess I owe him for that at least. Then he won a poker game with an archer at the circus, Buck. Said he wouldn’t have to pay up if he taught me how to handle a bow, something about improving his act. So for a few years it went on like that, taking lessons for Jacques and Buck, getting good… Scary good. Barney never got offered an apprentice job, and I knew that made him upset, but for the most part we were still close. Life was pretty good.” He opened his beer. “Till I caught Jacques stealing money from the carnival. I didn’t listen to him, told him I was going to the cops,” he gave a bitter laugh, “Didn’t get very far. Beat me within an inch of my life. Anyway Buck chased him off, saved my ass, offered to take me in. Barney, though… Barney felt I betrayed Jacques, thought that said something about my loyalty. He wanted to leave, join the army, begged me to go with him. Stay at the circus with Buck or go join the army. He said he’d wait.” He took another drink. “But when I changed my mind… the bus was gone, Barney with it. I was too late. So I stayed on with Buck.” He sighed. “Just, uh… give me a minute before I get started on act two, will you?” he said, not wanting to look at Bruce and see his reaction to everything he was learning about Clint. He couldn’t continue if he saw disapproval, not when what followed was 100 times worse.

Bruce nodded. “Ah… sorry about your stall tactic. I don’t really drink. Next time maybe offer ice cream?” The tiniest of smiles appeared on his still sad face, then left again. His hands worked against each other nervously. “Clint? It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I… overreacted before. I’m not usually this nosy.”

Clint nodded. “Maybe I’ll tell you on day, Doc. Just… not today. After all that… well, I wasn’t a very good person.” He took a drink before standing up, sliding his smirk back into place. “So how about that ice cream?”

Bruce smiled a little awkwardly. “Okay. Sounds good.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “No matter how bad my life was, I know I was lucky not to go into the system.” He sighed. “I thought I just wanted you to understand how dangerous I am. But I know you do and I still….” Bruce shook his head. “I kind of… resent anyone who’s gone through the same level of shit I have, and just seems to _deal with_ it. Live like a normal person. It’s not very nice of me.”

Clint waved him off while he dished out the ice cream. “I’ve heard worse sob stories than mine.” He chuckled a bit. “And I’m pretty sure we’ve established that nobody in our line of work has managed to live a _normal_ life.” He handed Bruce a bowl. “Some of us are pretty good at faking it, though,” he said with a smirk as he dished out his own bowl.

Bruce took the offered bowl. “Yeah, you are. You’re pretty remarkable actually.” He sat back and took a bite of his ice cream. “I wish a lot that I could just stop thinking, stop worrying. Just look at the sky or whatever. But the Other Guy tends to get restless.”

“Remarkable, huh?” He smiled. “I like that one. Remarkable.” He grinned, taking a bite of the ice cream. “You’re a genius, Doc, your mind can’t go blank as easily as mine can.” He gave a smirk. “Instead of clearing it you just need to find something to occupy it.”

“That _is_ the secret.” He glanced at Clint. “I’m always angry, but as long as I have something interesting to focus on, I can keep the anger from taking over, making my decisions for me. So I make sure I always have something to focus on.” Bruce sighed. “It works. But it gets exhausting.”

Clint nodded. “So what interesting things do you think about?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uh.” Bruce took a bite of his ice cream and tried to think how to put it. “Everything from the gravitational curvature of space to recipes for food that would also serve as palliative cold remedies. Recently it’s been whatever I’m working on in the labs here. When things get bad, I need simpler things I can focus on quickly. Mole to gram conversions for various elements, vector additions, factoring three to five digit numbers. When all else fails, I count things.”

“Wow,” Clint said. “That’s… wow.” He took a bite of his ice cream. “Say what you will, but I think _you’re_ the remarkable one between the two of us, Doc.”

“I never said that I wasn’t a genius,” Bruce mumbled. “Just that it doesn’t come naturally to me. I have to focus, and refocus, every moment.”

Clint nodded. “It’s not so much the genius… though that’s impressive. But to have so much going on and be able to make sense out of it all? I could never do it.” He set his ice cream down. “See, the only reason I can clear my head the way I do is training. Buck always told me not to think about my shot but feel it. Feel the bow in my hands, feel the way my muscles react and then to just clear my mind and trust the arrow to go where I tell it. When I have too much going on in my head, or I get upset or angry I just shut down. I clear my head and let the arrow go. But you, you manage to sort through it, to keep aware by using the thoughts to your advantage.” He shrugged. “I know for you it gets tiresome, and I can’t say I get it, because I don’t. But take it from me when I say not thinking isn’t any better.”

Bruce sighed. “We all want what we can’t have. That’s life, I guess.” He prodded his remaining ice cream with his spoon. “I just don’t know how long I’m going to be able to keep this up.”

Clint nodded. “True. I guess we’ll just have to agree that we are both ridiculously amazing.” He smiled before putting the now empty bowl down. “I’d offer to help, but I’m not sure there’s anything I could do.” He gave a sad smile.

Bruce put down his bowl as well, which now contained a sad puddle, no use at all for fidgeting. “I was actually wondering,” he began, and now his hands were worrying at each other again, “if you would teach me to shoot? After your shoulder’s healed, of course.”

Clint’s eyes widened in surprise before a bright smile overtook his face. “Really? Yeah, definitely. I mean, if you think it would help.”

Bruce smiled a little in reply. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “I have tried a hell of a lot of things,” he said. “Not just medicines. Meditation, diet, cardiopulmonary biofeedback. A lot of other things that didn’t make much sense but that someone thought might help.” His head drooped between his shoulders. “I’ve thought about giving up. I did give up once, and that didn’t get me anywhere.” He lifted his head to look at Clint again. “I’m not going to give up again. And yes, I’d like to give archery a chance.”

Clint nodded. “I’ll be glad to teach you, Doc. I mean, for some people it can be… frustrating when they first start out,” he warned. “But, at least for me, the end result is worth it.”

Bruce smiled wryly and nodded. “I think I can manage a little bit of frustration. And I think it’s going to be fun. Actually it’s been a long time since I looked forward to something this much.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “It helps to have something to look forward to.”

Clint smiled. “Well, I’m glad to help in whatever way I can.” He stood up and put their bowls in the sink. “As soon as my shoulder is less stiff, consider me your new teacher.” He shot a wink.

Bruce returned the smile, and then moved to pick up his book again. “In the meantime I’d better finish this. As your doctor, I think you’ll have some free time for reading in the next few days.”

Clint waved him off. “I’m telling you, Doc, I’ve had worse that healed in short time spans. My body’s used to it. Just watch, tomorrow my shoulder will be like new.”

Bruce sighed and gave him a skeptical look. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, but he couldn’t stop the smile still lingering on his face.

Clint gave a look of mock outrage. “Aw, Doc, ye of little faith,” he said.

“No, not much in the way of faith,” Bruce replied. “But hope, sure. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

Clint laughed. “You’ll see, Doc,” he said. “All I need is some rest and I’ll be in tip top shape tomorrow.”

With a lazy wave Clint headed to his room, flopping down face first on his bed. Today hadn’t been what he expected when he woke up. He’d laughed and frowned and memories that were better left buried were dug up.

But looking back on it… He couldn’t bring himself to regret a second.

-

Bruce woke with a sort of clear feeling, a momentary calm before his brain started up that was unusual for him. He wasn’t blinking away a headache, or nightmares, or even grogginess.

He looked at the book by his bedside, now finished, and remembered the previous day. Sort of sheepishly, when he thought about how he’d treated Clint, who was obviously only trying to help him.

But he was angry with himself every day, and this? Actually not bad. This he could live with.

Bruce emerged from his lair with the book, a faint smile and a sudden curiosity if there was any lemon to put into his tea.

Clint woke slowly, cataloging everything. His leg felt fine, his shoulder was better, only giving a slight twinge as he sat up. One more day and he was sure the pain would be gone. He put on a pair of jeans and grabbed a shirt; he heard someone in the kitchen and headed that way while he put the shirt on. “Morning,” he said from under his shirt before popping his head out and saw who it was and smiled. “Oh hey, Doc, how’d you sleep?” He pulled down the part of his shirt that was riding up slightly.

Bruce had found his lemon, and he was cutting himself a slice when he looked up to see Clint’s abs walk in the door. The skin of his face and ears went slightly warm, and he hoped he was still tan enough that it wouldn’t be noticed. After all, he had been acting as this man’s doctor. It really wasn’t very professional.

“Pretty great, actually,” he answered, smiling. “How about you?”

“Glad to hear it,” he said with a bright smile. “I slept okay, shoulder’s not as bad. Only a bit of a twinge when I stretch or prop myself up.” He gave an ‘I told you so’ kind of look.

“Mmm hmm.” Bruce poured himself tea and looked contemplatively at Clint. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, but don’t push yourself. Here,” he said, pushing the book across the countertop towards Clint. “Something to do that doesn’t involve using your deltoid or supraspinatus muscles.”

Clint made an exaggerated pout, sticking his bottom lip out. “But Doc, my deltoids are _amazing,_ and I need to use them to keep them that way.” He gave a wink as he took the book. “Thanks, Doc; oh, and I hope you didn’t have any plans because you and I are going out today.”

Bruce blinked. “Okay.” Then, turning his head slightly to look at the air for a moment, he said, “I think there’s nothing I can’t put off another day. I wouldn’t have started that book unless I was between time-sensitive projects. It can be hard to put down.” He raised his eyebrows at Clint. “So where are we going?”

Clint smiled. “Well, if I’m going to be teaching you to shoot, we’re finding you your own bow.”

Bruce tried to stop a goofy smile from covering his face. “I guess I will need one, won’t I?”

Clint nodded. “You could use one of mine but it’s better for someone to have their own bow and arrows they picked out. While you’re searching I can start helping with your stance.” He smiled. “So breakfast and then we can go? Sound good?”

“Yeah, why not.” Bruce looked around the kitchen, trying to regain his focus and remember what he was doing. “Breakfast, right. You like french toast?”

Clint nodded, smiling. “Sure do,” he said, opening the fridge, handing him the eggs before grabbing the book and opening it up.

“Great,” said Bruce, opening cupboards and getting things out. “There’s something calming about making french toast. Just complicated enough to keep me focused, but simple enough that I can think about other things at the same time if I want to.” He put a pan on the burner and lit the flame beneath it. 

“With the added bonus of being freakin delicious,” Clint said with a smirk.

Bruce chuckled. “That too. And when there’s stale bread, it’s another way of not wasting food.” He placed the first two pieces in the hot pan and they started to sizzle. Then he looked around the kitchen again. “How do you want yours? Butter and syrup? I think I’m going to go with raspberry jam and some more of that ice cream, myself.”

Clint nodded. “More butter than syrup,” he said. “Anything I can do to help out?”

Bruce smiled like he had a secret, then he shook his head. “Not with this. I don’t know what you like to drink with breakfast, though, so you could take care of that.” The first two slices came out of the pan and the next two went in. “So what kind of place are we going to? How is it for crowds, loud noises, things like that? Not that that would be a problem. I’d just like to know in advance.”

Clint dug through the fridge until he found what he was looking for; he took out the carton of O.J. and one of lemonade before filling his glass equally with each. “There’s this shop I used to go to for bow repairs and arrows before SHEILD started doing it for me, and now Tony.” He took a drink and made a pleased noise at the taste. “Figured we could head there, get you all the equipment you’d need and if we have time there’s an indoor range in the back of the store so we could work on your stance.” He smiled. “No demonstrations today though. I have this real hardass for a doctor who wouldn’t be pleased if I started shooting again until my shoulder's 100%.” He winked.

Bruce’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he heard that. “He sounds very annoying.”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you have no idea.” He leaned forward and whispered, “He’s also a bit of a know it all.” His smirk grew.

Bruce’s smile widened. “Is that so? I’m starting to wonder why you even put up with him.” He piled the last two pieces of french toast on top of the others, so there were three on each plate, and started topping them.

“Well I’m a very tolerant person,” Clint informed him. “And I suppose he’s not _all_ bad. Besides he’s not exactly hard on the eyes.” He gave a playful wink.

“Hmm.” Bruce rummaged in a drawer, finding an ice cream scoop. He used it to form a huge ball of butter to put on top of Clint’s french toast, before scooping vanilla ice cream onto his own plate. “That’s not the most _essential_ quality in a doctor, but I guess it doesn’t hurt.”

An eyebrow went up as Clint saw the sheer amount of butter he was putting on his pancakes. “Oh don’t get me wrong, he’s a great doctor. But what with the hardass and know-it-all traits of his personality, his good looks are just an added bonus to stay,” he said teasingly.

Bruce shook his head and handed over a fork, taking one for himself and sitting down at the table. He thought about responding, but he really couldn’t think of what to say, so he just began eating.

Clint took a bite, made a happy noise at the taste. Bruce was looking at his food intensely and Clint worried he’d crossed some line so he quickly changed the subject. “So you’ve been all over, right? I mean I know you didn’t exactly travel for pleasure but do you have a favorite?”

Bruce latched onto the new subject gratefully. “There’s interesting things and unpleasant things about all places. Usually I’d try to focus on work, on what I was doing. But a few times I’d wake up in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but admire the scenery….” He paused to take another bite and consider. “Mexico has some really spectacular caves. I don’t know the right name of the place I’m thinking of. I didn’t exactly get there via the guidebook. But it was… just amazing. The scale of the place.”

Clint nodded. “That sounds absolutely fantastic,” he said sincerely. “I don’t always get the time to just look because I’m usually on assignment in the sort of places you don’t want to look too much.”

Bruce smiled a bit sadly. “I’ve been in those places too.” He continued to work his way steadily through his breakfast. “No favorite spots at all? I know you like high places. Good views? Or is it more of just the emptiness itself?”

“Oh, I have favorite places,” Clint said, taking another bite. “Any place I can climb a mountain equals a good time for me,” he said. “But I think the best place I’ve ever gone is Japan. Not so much for the scenery, which, don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing. But because of the archery and sword fighting there, two things I’ve dedicated my life to. Over there… it’s art. I mean I thought I was good…. I have nothing on any of them.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Bruce said, looking at Clint with slightly widened eyes. “I mean I haven’t had many chances to see you shoot myself, but I know your reputation.”

“Aw shucks Doc, you’re gonna make me blush,” Clint said before taking a few more bites. “Seriously though, I’m pretty great but they’re freaking amazing.”

Bruce looked at him for a moment, then shrugged, said, “I guess I’ll have to see for myself,” and went back to using a bit of french toast to get the last of the raspberry jam off his plate.

Clint smiled. “I guess you will,” he said, taking his last bite. “I’m going to get set, you can meet me outside when you’re finished.” He smiled, putting his plate in the sink before making his way outside.

Bruce settled himself with this moment alone in the kitchen, putting things away and choosing a pattern for his thoughts to fall back on while he was out. The aerodynamics of bird flight sort of appealed to him today. He focused on that as he stepped out onto the street.

Clint sat outside, staring up at the sky. He heard the door open and turned to see Bruce coming out. “Hey Doc, the shop isn’t too far from here and I figured you’d prefer walking so, shall we?”

Bruce’s smile was a bit small and tight, but it wasn’t forced. “Yeah, walking. Sounds good.” As he fell into step behind Clint, he kept his mind busy searching their surroundings for pigeons.

Clint opened his mouth to speak but saw Bruce looking occupied and content. He smiled and looked at the sky. Within 20 minutes they were standing in front of an out of the way shop that didn’t look like much. “Here we are,” Clint said, gesturing to the shop.

Bruce just looked on in fascination as they entered - so much equipment, so many different shapes, sizes and colors. 

“Now there’s a whole bunch of choices. Like what kind of bow you want. Longbow, short bow, crossbow, compound bow. Depends what kind of archer you want to be. Then there’s different arrows for different bows that are better for different things. And, yanno, extras for you and the bow to help with your shot.” He looked around. “I know it’s a lot to take in; uh... I guess the question is what are you looking for? Speed, precision, simplicity?”

Bruce laughed quietly. “I don’t think speed is really my thing. Other than that, I think I’d need to find out more before deciding.”

“Well you have all sorts, really. Classic wooden bows, bows with all sorts of material. Simple, complicated. If I had to suggest one I’d say look into a longbow, those tend to be easier for beginners. Kind of the classic bow.” He shrugged with a small smile. “That’s just my opinion, though.”

“That does sound classic; reminds me of Robin Hood.” Bruce chuckled. “I can almost see myself as Robin Hood. I don’t think I’m going to start wearing a costume, though.”

Clint gave the man a (hopefully) subtle once over. “I dunno, Freckles, I think you could pull it off.” He cleared his throat heading over to the longbows. “So now it’s up to you, Doc. Browse around and find one that feels right. And if you have any questions I’m right here.”

Bruce looked around, still a bit hesitant to actually touch anything. “What do these numbers mean?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s the length, the draw weight and draw length.” He picked up one and pointed to the numbers. “So this one is 68 inches long, 34 pound draw at 28 inches,” he explained, hoping he was explaining enough. He was so used to bows he forgot sometimes that this wasn’t just basic knowledge.

“Ah, OK, so that means it takes 34 pounds of force to hold the string back 28 inches?” He took the thing hesitantly from Clint’s hands. “I like having the numbers. I understand the numbers. But I’m not sure….” He ran his fingers along the wood. “What are the numbers on your bow? I know they’ll be different than what I end up with, but…just tell me stuff?”

“Depends on which bow. But my recurve, the one I usually use in a fight, is 56” 43#-28”, at least before SHEILD and Tony went and tricked it out. Now I’m not entirely sure they apply anymore.” He shrugged.

“Okay,” Bruce said, nodding. He was getting more comfortable with the whole category of objects through the numbers used to describe them. “Now. I guess I need to learn how to string them?”

“How about you find a bow that feels right first; we can’t string it till we know what bow we’re stringing.”

“Uh, OK.” Bruce frowned in confusion. “So what’s it supposed to feel like?”

Clint laughed “I can’t tell you what feels right for you, Freckles,” he said, picking a random bow. “Feel the weight of it in your hands.” He ran his hand over the bow gently. “The length, the width,” he wrapped his fingers around it. “What feels right for me doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right for you, Doc.” He held the bow out.

Bruce stood and blinked for a minute, trying to readjust again. This all sounded sort of magical, being able to know something without quantifying or contextualizing. He laughed, and took the second bow into his hands with a little more confidence. “I feel like Harry Potter going to buy a wand.”

Clint laughed, nodding. “The bow chooses the archer, Mr. Banner,” he said in his best impression.

So Bruce picked up bows, sort of hefted them and moved them around a little, which felt very silly. Some of them felt way too light, like the Hulk could break them by breathing on them. Some of them were just uncomfortable to hold. He tried not to think too hard about the numbers and mechanics of it all. But he was starting to get annoyed at the vagueness of the whole task, and when he realized that, his brain fell back on its calculations of bird flight.

He was calculating downward thrust based on a simple geometrical approximation of wing shape and motion, when he found himself holding a bow that he liked.

It was fairly long, made of layers of light colored wood, and had a gentle curve at the ends. He frowned at it.

Clint watched as Bruce moved from bow to bow, never staying on one for any amount of time. He could see him get frustrated at times and wished he could be of more help, but this was the only way he knew how to pick a bow.

When Bruce finally was on a bow for more than two minutes, Clint decided it was time to break his silence. “That the one?” He took in his frown. “Not what you expected?”

“I didn’t really expect… anything.” He looked up at Clint, his forehead still wrinkled slightly in confusion. “To be honest, I kind of thought I’d get through them all and have to go back and find one I could get used to.”

Clint wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “There’s a perfect fit for everyone, Doc,” he finally said. “You’re no exception.” He gave a smirk. “Follow me and I’ll show you how to string it up.”

Bruce ran his finger along the edge of the wood. He muttered, “Magic,” then, smiling, shook his head and followed Clint.

Clint looked and picked the string that was needed. “I’m not really a technical kind of teacher,” he warned. “Pretty sure if I explained I’d just confuse you and myself.” He smirked. “So, uh.. just watch what I do. Focus on my hands and fingers.” With that he began string the bow, his fingers moving swiftly but delicately with a practiced ease. He made sure to go slowly for Bruce’s benefit.

Bruce nodded. He could visualize the dynamics involved fairly easily. “I could stand to see it a few more times, but I don’t think I’ll have a problem.” He contemplated the transformed object. “It looks different, with a string.”

Clint nodded. “Makes it seem more real doesn’t it?” He stood. “So I was thinking before we get you hooked up with arrows we’d just get you used to the bow and your stance. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” This whole thing was disorienting, and when Bruce thought about how many times he’d woken up in odd places, it seemed strange that a simple tool like this could throw him off balance so much. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for ammunition yet.”

Clint hesitated at the look on Bruce’s face. “Or we could just call it a day for now if you’d rather,” he amended.

Bruce saw that Clint was concerned for him - and it must have been just that, because this man had already demonstrated an astonishing lack of fear towards the Hulk - and thought maybe it wasn’t just the new equipment that was making him feel disoriented. He took stock of his own mind before answering.

“I think I’d like to do more today, but maybe I should sit down for a while first. Have some tea or something.”

Clint nodded, smiling in relief that the other man was okay. “Okay, I know the owner so I can leave your bow behind the counter and we can go get a bite or something at the coffee house down the street. I’m sure they have tea.”

“That would be great.” Bruce smiled as much as he could in return, and began counting shelves as he made his way to the door.

Clint frowned as he placed the bow behind the counter and went after his teammate. “Okay, so feel free to tell me to shut up but I’m about to get nosy,” he stated. “Is everything alright? I mean did I do something or are the bows not what you were hoping for? Because at some point today a switch got flipped on your mood or something.”

Bruce chuckled darkly. “Right, because my moods are a really steady, dependable thing.” He shook his head. “Living in my head is like swimming in soup. Even I don’t know what’s going to set me off.” He turned earnest eyes to Clint. “Please don’t take it personally. Everything’s been great.”

He nodded. “Ok, fair enough,” he said, and quickly did what he was good at and attempted to lighten the mood “So… What kind of soup we talkin’ here?” he asked with a smirk.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched. “Pea soup. Definitely pea soup.”

Clint chuckled. “Sounds about right,” he said as he opened the door to the coffee house for the other man with a wink.

Bruce walked inside and sat down gratefully at an empty table, closing his eyes and rubbing at the pressure points underneath the arches of his eyebrows. This was better. He knew what to expect here.

Clint smiled as he saw Bruce visibly relax. “The bows threw you through that much of a loop, huh Freckles?”

Bruce laughed. “You think that was bad? That’s so cute.” He looked up at the archer with raised eyebrows. “That doesn’t really help your case if you want me to think you take the Other Guy seriously. This is a good day. Any day I don’t have an incident is a good day.”

Clint sighed. “I wasn’t asking because I thought you were close to an incident, Bruce. I asked because I saw a teammate - a _friend_ \- looking stressed. Not because I saw Bruce Banner about to Hulk out, which by the way if I ever do see out of battle I **promise** to be properly terrified.” He made an exaggerated look of horror.

Bruce gave Clint one of his resigned smiles. “And if you think today was bad for me, you have _no idea how much I hate_ how it feels to turn into the Hulk.” He paused a moment, gazing out the window. “This is my life. This is a good day for me.”

Clint sighed. “Look, I know I joke a lot. It’s my thing; I laugh in the face of danger and serious conversations. It’s my way to cope. I don’t mean to make light of the Hulk but,” he made a frustrated noise but kept calm. “But damn it, Bruce, that’s not all you are, okay? And I don’t think of you as just the guy who turns into the Hulk. So if I see a frown in your face I’m going to ask about it or crack a joke to make it go away. Not because I don’t think you can handle it but because, despite popular opinion, I give a damn.” He sighed. “Okay?”

Bruce’s smile softened until it only contained a tiny wrinkle of a concerned frown on his forehead. “Okay, all right.” He shook his head just slightly. “I don’t get it,” he said quietly. “But it’s… I appreciate it. I really do. I just don’t want you to hold your breath waiting for me to be content, or okay, because those really aren’t part of the equation for me.”

Clint smirked. “You got it, Freckles,” he said, standing up. “Now we came here for tea, didn’t we. Name your poison and I’ll go get us some.”

“You know what, I think I’d like a chai.” His gaze drifted out the window again. “Never had one in America before, but I have had enough different varieties that it makes me curious how they’ve standardized it.”

“Chai it is then, I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much, Doc.” He gave a wink before heading up to the counter.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” he answered dryly.

Bruce couldn’t help a reluctant smile as the archer moved away. As exasperating as he was, Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to avoid him.

The scientist turned back to his little table and began to construct a tower, house-of-cards style, out of the sugar packets there.

Clint was back a minute later with their drinks and smirked as he approached the table. “And he’s an amateur architect too, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said as he placed his tea down in front of him before taking his seat once more.

The sides of Bruce’s mouth quirked as Clint mocked his creation. “My powers of creation are dwarfed by my powers of destruction,” he said as he prodded it with a finger, causing it to collapse in on itself. He looked at the little pile of sugar packets for a moment before turning his attention to his tea.

Clint looked at the pile of sugar packets. “That’s just shoddy craftsmanship,” he said as he shook his head, tsking as if highly disappointed.

“ _Very_ amateur architect,” Bruce said, chuckling, before taking a sip of his chai. “This is pretty good. Not as spicy as I’d make it. What did you get?”

“Well I’d like to tell you I ordered a very adult and sophisticated beverage,” he said with a smirk. “But I just got hot chocolate with marshmallows.” He chuckled as he took a sip. “So there goes any maturity I fooled you into thinking I have.”

Bruce grinned. “Honestly I don’t think caffeine addiction is a sign of maturity. Or any beverage choice, really. I mean, look at Tony.” He chuckled. “I like that you got hot chocolate.”

He laughed. “Good point.” He took another drink. “Tasha tells me the cocoa is fine. It’s the fact that I pout if there isn’t enough marshmallows that signals my mental age.” He smirked.

Bruce smiled. “That is quite an image. I take it you’ve got enough marshmallows today?” He sipped his tea again, and felt the familiar beverage help to settle his thoughts.

“There isn’t such a thing as enough marshmallows, Bruce,” Clint said in a serious voice before he cracked into a smile again. “But I suppose this is an acceptable amount.”

Bruce smiled contentedly and sipped his tea again. “I wonder if I could identify all the spices in this just by taste,” he mused. “I did a little of my own mixing. There are ancient recipes for chai masala blends that are supposed to be good for all different ailments. It was originally considered a medicine. Some of them are still in use. Of course they have a lot less side effects than, say, the original formula for Coca Cola.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, they had, uh… cocaine in their drinks once, right?” he asked as he took another sip. “I bet you could, it seems like the type of thing that’d be a breeze for you. Naming ingredients in tea.”

“I don’t know, I think they’re too subtle. It’s hard to tell if there’s just cinnamon or a little bit of cloves. They have the same chemical that dominates their flavor.” Bruce took a long sip from his cooling chai. “I think I’m just about ready to head back. That was just a lot of new things to process.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I get that; you should have seen me when I picked out my first bow.” He smiled. “Well, all that I really have planned for the next few lessons is your stance. That should be less to process.”

“I am pretty excited about it.” Bruce fiddled with the corrugated paper cuff around his cup. “But it scares me a little bit, too.”

Clint nodded. “Okay… how about you tell me what’s scary about it for you and I’ll do my best to ease that busy brain of yours.”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Bruce said. “It’s so different for me. I haven’t done much to train my body outside of things like yoga and biofeedback. All calm, still things. And today I was getting ready to pick up a weapon.” His forehead wrinkled. 

Clint considered for a moment. “Well… I, uh… I don’t really have any wise words of wisdom for you, Doc.” He smiled. “Just that I’ll teach you the best I can and if you don’t like it then we’ll stop.” He took a final drink of his cocoa.

“Well, it’s definitely something I haven’t tried before,” Bruce said, his mouth quirking. “But before the Chitauri I’d never turned into the Hulk on purpose before. I guess I have a hard time thinking of myself as the kind of person who would use violence. But I am.” He finished his tea and stood up, a determined expression on his face.

Clint had been about to say something but as he saw the look on Bruce’s face he decided against it as he stood. “Well I guess we should get started.” He gave a smile and headed towards the door, holding it open for Bruce.

Bruce walked purposefully. He was caught up in a sort of task-oriented focus that he’d only ever experienced when he was working. The part of his brain that wasn’t caught up by it was making some interesting observations of its effects on his perception of the flow of time.

Clint couldn’t help the smile at the sudden mood that had overtaken his teammate; it was nice to see him so hyped up to do something. They reached the store and Clint grabbed Bruce’s bow and handed it to him. “There’s a practice area in the back,” he said, leading Bruce to the small indoor range. “Usually we can use the one at the tower but I figured since we’re already here and we’re not working with arrows yet.”

Bruce contemplated the room they were in and the bow in his hands and let out a long breath. Then he nodded. “All right. Time to try this out.”

“Okay, how about you stand with it like you think and then I’ll correct any mistakes,” he suggested.

Bruce still really wasn’t comfortable with the whole ‘lack of proper context and study’ thing, but that strange determination was still flowing through him. So he wrapped his fingers around the string and tested, feeling the tension as he pulled.

The fear was back, and he stilled, the not knowing eating at him again.

“Okay, not bad.” Clint stepped forward to adjust his stance. He put a gentle hand on his arm. “Just pull this back further. You want to be controlled but not tight.” His hand moved to his shoulder as he adjusted it slightly.

Bruce felt himself relax immediately, just a little, at the touch guiding his arm. And this pose definitely felt… more even. He smiled as he got used to it, and then he looked at Clint.

Clint smiled and he placed his hands on the other man’s hip. “I swear I’m not trying to cop a feel, Doc,” he joked as he angled him slightly and moved one of his feet back. “This will give more of a sense of balance,” he explained.

Bruce let himself be moved, most of his attention on the position and how it felt with the bow. “Yeah, that is better,” he said. But part of his mind was off somewhere, wondering if all Clint’s jokes were really jokes.

Clint adjusted him slightly once more, and if his hands lingered a bit longer than necessary, well, it was an accident as far as either of them was concerned. He cleared his throat as he stepped back. “Ok, now take a deep breath and you pull back, then let it out as you let that arrow soar. Or you would if you had an arrow,” he said quickly before Bruce actually did it. “Arrows are definitely needed for that.” He smiled. “Soon the stance will be like a second nature and then we can add arrows into the mix.”

Bruce looked at Clint a little curiously before taking his deep breath and letting the stance settle into his bones. It felt good, and he was feeling calmer than he had been. Clint, on the other hand, seemed slightly flustered.

“I’m guessing you’d be more comfortable if you were the one holding the bow,” Bruce said, turning a curious eyebrow on his teacher.

Clint shrugged. “I’m always better with a bow in my hands. But this is me teaching you. It’ll be easier once my hard ass doctor I told you about signs off on me being able to shoot again.” He smiled. “But don’t worry about me, Freckles, I’m fine and you’re doing great. Just focus on your breathing and not being too tense.”

Bruce nodded. He took a few more breaths, and noticed the burn beginning in his shoulders. “I’m going to start getting tired soon,” he said.

Clint nodded. “Then it’s time to call it a day. Pretty good for your first time, the more we practice the longer your muscles will be able to take it,” he assured.

Bruce slowly let the string go back to its original position. As his fingers uncurled, he slumped a little. He also noticed that he was shaking slightly.

Clint took the bow. “Yeah, sorry Doc, I should have had you stop sooner,” he apologized. “When we get back you can have a bath or something, or I could just give you a massage right now,” he said with a wink.

“No, I don’t think it was too much physically, I just — ” Bruce began, and then he turned to frown in confusion at Clint. “I’m sorry, did you just say — I’ve been having the hardest time trying to figure out if you’re serious when you say things.”

Clint hesitated, as he ran his hand through his hair. “And if for at least some of it… I was serious?” he asked. He was attracted to the man, that much he knew, he had known the moment he saw his file. But now he knew Bruce and… “Would that be so bad?”

Bruce let his face fall into his hand. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and he knew he had to say something eventually, but his brain had almost completely stalled.

“Clint,” he said finally, “You’re really great. But I can’t.”

A look of disappointment crossed his features but it was replaced quickly with a bright, albeit forced smile. “No, I get it, Doc.” He waved him off. “Just, uh… disregard the last five minutes… I’m gonna go square away things with the bow and then we can be on our way.” He smirked before heading out to the front.

Bruce frowned at the doorway that Clint had just disappeared through. He’d seen the expression that the archer had tried to hide. It shouldn’t change anything, because Bruce had done what he needed to do.

But it hurt to see.

Especially because what he had wanted to do was so different.

His hand curled into a fist, and he had to force himself to relax before he followed through the door into the front of the shop, factoring numbers in his head.

Clint smiled when Bruce walked through; he wasn’t going to let the fact that he had crossed the line ruin the tentative friendship he and Bruce had going. “Congrats, Doc, you are officially an owner of a kickass bow. I’ll make an archer out of you yet.” He saw the look on the man’s face and instantly felt bad for being the one that put it there. “Hey, Doc,” he said, remembering what the man had told him not too long ago. “8,462.”

Bruce gave a painful smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s just twice a prime. 2, 4,231. End of story.” His eyes darted across the room, the chaos resolving itself into patterns now that he was more familiar with the merchandise. He couldn’t bring himself to look back at Clint.

Clint nodded; he had never been a numbers kind of guy. “Ok… 9,567.” he tried waving goodbye to the man behind the counter as he headed for the store’s exit. He turned to see Bruce looking anywhere but him and internally sighed, not sure if apologizing would make things worse.

Bruce closed his eyes briefly. “Three, three, one thousand sixty three,” he muttered. He followed Clint to the door, still angry at himself but pretty well in control. 

Clint saw the man calming down and figured it was best to keep quiet as the walked back to the tower. The silence was definitely more strained and awkward than the easy, comfortable ones they had been sharing lately.

Bruce wanted to say something. But there was nothing he could say. He had tried not to drag anyone else down into the disaster that was his life, and he had failed. As much as Clint talked about being part of a team, about accepting help from people, it was never that simple. Bruce thought that maybe the time had come to leave.

“I don’t want to…. I could find a different teacher,” he finally said. “If this is going to make you uncomfortable.”

Clint shook his head emphatically “No. I mean as long as you don’t mind.” He sighed. “Listen, I know I fucked up, a line was crossed and I’m sorry. But as far as I’m concerned it doesn’t change anything. We’re still teammates, I’m still more than willing to be your teacher and I still see you as a friend.” He smirked “Can’t get rid of me that easy, Doc.”

“No, wait… this isn’t your _fault_.” Bruce let a little of his frustration sound in his voice. 

Clint held a hand up. ”Okay,” he conceded. ”Okay, it’s not my fault. But it’s not _yours_ either. Well… I mean maybe a little bit for being so cute when you fiddle with your hands,” he amended with a smile. “But I get it. I hate it. But I get it. I disagree but I _get_ it.” He shrugged. “And as much as I would love to try and persuade you, and I _**really**_ would, I won’t. Because I had fun today and I want to keep having fun with you without you feeling like you have to walk on eggshells for me.” 

There was a swell of pain building up in Bruce’s chest, and he knew he had to stop it before it took over. He closed his eyes briefly and buried himself in a particularly compelling thought he’d had, about white blood cells and engineered viruses, that he’d been saving for such a moment. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Clint looked around; they were pretty out in the open, Bruce would never forgive himself if he hulked out in an unsecure location. Clint didn’t know how to help, if he even could but he’d never been good at standing by and just waiting for something to happen. Even worse at not following his gut. He’d rather have something blow up in his face than not have done anything only to have it blow up anyway.

“Fuck it,” he muttered as he placed gentle hands on either side of Bruce’s face, and before he could second guess himself he placed a soft but firm (and hopefully grounding) kiss on the other man’s lips.

There was warm skin on Bruce’s face, against his mouth, and all his carefully collected thoughts dispersed like particles on the surface of water when a drop of surfactant is added. And the pain was fading, too, because this was the antidote. Or rather, the wave of pain was breaking against this, its momentum shifted, changing shape into something else.

He kissed back. He couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

Clint smiled into the kiss, one hand going to the small of Bruce’s back, the other in his hair pulling him closer, encouraging the other man to let him make the kiss deeper as he swiped his tongue over Bruce’s bottom lip asking for entrance. 

Bruce’s hands were on Clint’s waist and his mouth was giving way to Clint’s kiss when his brain slowly began to tick back to life. His brain would tell him this was a bad idea, the worst of ideas, and he didn’t want to hear it right now, but his motions slowed as the thoughts caught up with him.

Clint felt Bruce’s hesitation and held him closer before pulling back slightly from the kiss. “Yeah, so everything I said a minute ago about not trying to persuade you?” He gave short kiss to the lips. “Disregard it.”

Bruce looked at him, speechlessly. There were so many things he knew he should say. He just couldn’t bring himself to say them. Finally, though, he found something he could say and mean. “I really hope I don’t kill you,” he breathed.

Clint gave a smile. “I hope so too; after all, we’ve already established that the world would weep for the loss of my ass,” he said with a soft laugh, resting his forehead on Bruce’s. “So does this mean you’re willing to give this thing a chance?”

Bruce took a deep breath, and looked into the blue eyes now so close to his. “Yeah, I suppose it does,” he said.

“Great.” Clint smiled; he wasn’t exactly a relationship guy, his longest having been Natasha (if you could call what they had a _relationship_ ). It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want one as it was that he just wasn’t all that good at it. But he was more than willing to give it a chance with Bruce. “So I suppose we should get back to the tower,” he said, making no move to actually let go of Bruce.

“Probably,” Bruce said, hands still on Clint’s waist. He looked around at the street, the people. There were so many problems with this. His mind spun with it. He breathed a little raggedly as he felt panic edge in again. But then he looked at Clint’s face, right there and free of worry, trusting him. It helped.

Clint gave one last kiss before reluctantly letting go of Bruce. “Well, we should get back then. Today has certainly been… eventful.” He smirked as he started walking once more.

“Definitely.” Bruce walked alongside him, absorbing and processing everything that had happened. “For the record, I still think you’re a reckless idiot. But I’m starting to like that about you.”

Clint laughed. “Believe it or not, you are nowhere near the first to call me that,” he said with a smile. “You _may_ be the first one to like it, though.”

Bruce shook his head. “What I can’t believe is that you talked me into this. Well, when I say _talked_ ….”

Clint smirked as he shrugged. “What can I say, when it comes to things like this I can be _very_ persuasive.” He winked. “I’m glad I was able to, though.”

“I don’t understand how. You are an inexplicable phenomenon,” he told Clint. “I’ve got to stop trying to figure out why or how you’re even real, because it just doesn’t compute.”

“Inexplicable Phenomenon, huh? I think I like that one even better than Devilishly Handsome,” he said with a smile.

Bruce smiled, and put aside the subject of what the hell was going on with his life in favor of returning to the white blood cell idea. There were a lot of testing protocols to come up with.

Clint smiled at the fact that this silence was the comfortable kind once more. He looked up at the sky as he walked, thinking about everything but nothing all at once.

When they got to the tower, Bruce turned to Clint. “I, uh… have to go… hide in the labs for a while. But, I don’t know. Training tomorrow? Or something?”

Clint smiled and nodded. “Definitely something. We won’t have to spend too much time on training; maybe we can go out again and just,” he shrugged while he chuckled, “hang out? I don’t really know what normal people do on dates.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled up as a quiet smile overtook his face. “I thought we’d reached a pretty conclusive agreement on the ‘us not being normal’ thing?”

Clint gave a quiet laugh. “Right. Screw Normal.” He sighed. “If that stuff you want to do in the lab is important, you should go before I give into the urge to kiss you again.”

“Hmm.” Bruce contemplated Clint for a moment, then leaned in to kiss him softly on the mouth, before turning and heading away. “Tomorrow, then!” he said over his shoulder.

Clint laughed. “Yeah, tomorrow,” he said before heading into the tower. He had a book to read.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve been reliably informed that granola bars and smoothies are a perfectly acceptable breakfast,” Tony said, shooting Bruce a significant look, but following nevertheless.

“And that’s _true_ ,” Bruce said. “But it’s lunchtime. Come on, I’ll distract you with science and force feed you lunch. I had this idea while I was out yesterday….”

Tony gasped. “ _You_ left the tower? Why did nobody tell me.”

“Very funny, Tony.”

“Seriously, no bad guys, no cataclysmic event, you just left of your own free will? Call the papers. This is unprecedented.”

Bruce just shook his head and chuckled as they made their way into the kitchen.

Clint was taking a pizza out of the oven when he finally gave in. “You’ve been staring for nearly twenty minutes, Tash; say whatever it is you have to say.”

“You’ve been different the last few days,” she said, walking up and stealing a piece for herself. “Last week you were always dragging me down to the gym to spar.”

“Aw, are you feeling neglected? I promise you’re still my favorite.”

Her response was to roll her eyes and throw a pepperoni at him, causing Clint to laugh.

“Pizza,” Tony said, his eyes widening like he’d seen the second coming and it was on his kitchen counter. “You know, I think you’re on to something with this whole occasionally-leaving-the-lab thing, Bruce.” He grabbed a slice and began eating.

“Sorry about the hungry billionaire invasion,” Bruce said, looking at Clint with a somewhat uncertain smile. 

Clint chuckled. “It’s okay, I figured I’d have to share so I’m making extra.” He gestured to the oven, though he never stopped looking or smiling at Bruce. He wasn’t sure if the scientist wanted to keep their… whatever it was a secret, so he didn’t say anything. Natasha knew him well enough, however, and Clint had no doubt that keeping something like this from her would be nearly impossible; he turned around (no reason to make it easy for her), deciding to ask Bruce what his feelings were on sharing. “You want a piece, Doc?”

“Yeah, it looks good,” Bruce said as he made his way slowly over to the pizza to pick up his own slice. “Thanks.” He edged slightly closer to Clint before coming to a halt and starting to eat.

Tony fixed Bruce with an intrigued stare. “So what can get you to leave this great oasis of technology and luxury, Banner? Bored of my labs already? Run out of jasmine green? Hot date?”

“Something like that,” Bruce said, smiling inscrutably and refusing to elaborate.

Clint gave Bruce a small smile, coming slightly closer.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, looking over to see if Stark was seeing what she was. “I didn’t see you at all yesterday, Clint,” she mentioned casually.

Clint was by no means fooled. “Yeah, I went to the shop I used to before Tony got his hands on my equipment.”

Tony looked indignantly at Clint. “I thought I was your one and only provider of awesome weapons now.”

“Oh, he didn’t buy anything,” Bruce said.

Tony slowly turned wide eyes on Bruce. “What.”

“I, on the other hand, am now the proud owner of a longbow,” Bruce continued.

Clint nodded. “I’m teaching the Doc how to handle a bow,” he said with a shrug. “Speaking of which,” he turned to Bruce, “my shoulder feels fine so I should be able to give demonstrations now.” He took another piece of pizza.

Bruce smiled. “I’m looking forward to that. I haven’t really had much of a chance to see it done right.”

Tony was done looking shocked and had switched to mock distress. “Nooo! Why are you stealing my lab buddy?” He threw his arms around Bruce possessively. “I called dibs. I’m the only one who gets to drag him around and mold him in my image.”

Bruce’s face was full of suppressed laughter as he raised his eyebrow at Clint as if to say ‘are you going to let this happen?’

Clint chuckled as he yanked Bruce out of Tony’s grasp and put his own arm over him. “I’ll make you a deal, Stark; shared custody. You can have him…” he bit his lip, considering. “Sunday through Tuesday.” He leaned against the counter with a smirk, not removing his arm from around Bruce. “Sound good to you, Freckles?”

Bruce laughed quietly. “I think I can arrange my own schedule,” he said, and put an arm around Clint’s waist.

Tony’s eyes were wide again. “Wait. Wait. Wait. You weren’t kidding about the hot date thing?”

“Well, to be fair, it didn’t start _out_ as a date,” Clint said.

“So that’s why you’ve stopped training all the time,” Natasha commented.

Clint shrugged. “What can I say? Hanging out with the Doc is a much better use of my time.”

Tony grinned. “Well, he is pretty much the only person on the planet who can keep up with me mentally. You’d better appreciate that. Make optimum use of him.”

“I’m starting to feel like a time share vacation home,” Bruce said with just a hint of irritation.

“Sorry, Doc,” Clint said with a smirk. “If it helps, I think you’re much more fun than a stupid vacation home.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “He more than keeps up with you, Stark, he surpasses you.”

Clint laughed and nodded in agreement.

Tony huffed. “Clearly I’m totally underappreciated here.” He took two more pieces of pizza, stacking them together in one hand, and turned back in the direction of the lab. “You’ll be back, Big Green! You can’t resist Candyland for long!” He waved his hand in both farewell and dismissal as he walked out.

Bruce chuckled as he reached over to get another slice of pizza. It was a stretch, but he managed to do it without letting go of Clint.

Natasha sighed. “You two are disgusting.”

Clint chuckled. “That’s Tasha’s way of saying we look cute together,” he said in mock whisper, earning a glare from his friend.

Bruce gave a long, relieved sigh before smiling at Clint’s translation. Then he went back to his pizza.

“I assume the standard threat is a given?” Natasha said as she stood up. “Break his heart and I’ll break your neck, Banner.” She placed her plate in the sink. “And don’t screw this up, Clint.”

Clint sighed as she exited the kitchen. “I swear she’s not _always_ utterly terrifying.”

Bruce shook his head. “She doesn’t scare me. I’m not afraid of _my_ neck getting broken.” He looked at Clint. “ _I_ scare me. I scare _her_. And she knows I can’t promise not to hurt you.”

Clint sighed; he knew even though she hadn’t said it, he was going to get a lecture along similar lines to those he kept getting from Bruce. “You really should stop trying to scare me off; we’ve already established that I’m a reckless idiot.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying.” The tiniest of smiles appeared on Bruce’s face. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m whining and complaining. And you’d better get used to it, because I’ve learned what happens if I bottle things up.”

Clint smiled, nodding. “I don’t mind listening to you whine, Freckles,” he assured, adjusting his hold on the man so they were no longer side by side but face to face.

Bruce just stood, appreciating the closeness while he could. “Well then, this is pretty much the worst idea in the history of ideas,” he said, leaning in slightly. “I’m going to hurt you and then I’m going to regret it forever.”

Clint sighed as he pulled him in closer. “I’m not going to say much on the hurting me, you already know my opinion.” He held him slightly tighter, as if afraid he was going to fade away. “But I can tell you that I’m happier right now than I have been since the whole mind control thing. And that’s thanks to you, Doc.”

Bruce held on and breathed, a whirl of happiness, sadness, anger, frustration and dread held together with thoughts, familiar thoughts about lymphocytes and test protocols, slightly lost thoughts about archery, and completely afloat questions about why Clint was Clint and what was going on with his life.

“That’s good,” he said.

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, it is,” he said softly, as he pulled back from the tight hold only slightly so he could lean in for a kiss.

Bruce was ready for it this time, but it still threw his thoughts out of order, and a lot more of the mess of happy/sad/frustrated emotions than he intended escaped into the kiss, as he pressed his mouth against Clint’s.

Clint pulled him closer and tried to put everything he was feeling, everything he couldn’t come out and say, into the kiss.

It was rapidly becoming too much for Bruce, and he grasped at thought desperately. He managed to pull away and he put his hands against the counter, noticing the way he was breathing, a little harsher than usual.

Clint was also breathing a little raggedly. “Sorry, too much?” he asked, removing his hands but not stepping back. 

“Yeah.” Bruce’s fingers tapped patterns against the countertop as he tried to settle his breathing. “Amazing, but… yeah.” He sighed. “Definitely too much.”

Clint nodded understandingly. “Okay.” He stepped away as he began to clean up after the pizza. “So is there anything specific you want to do today?”

“Hmm.” Bruce used this question to focus his mind. “I don’t know. There are a lot of options, I guess. We’re surrounded by restaurants and museums and all sorts of entertainment-based businesses.” He bit his lip as he thought. “Is there anything you’ve been interested in trying but never have?”

Clint shook his head. “Not really... I mean... Nothing really interesting. What about you, Freckles? Any life long wishes I can fulfill for you today?” he asked with a wink.

Bruce hummed as he thought. “I think I've done pretty much enough of trying new things for one lifetime,” he said. Then his mouth quirked up. “I kind of have an idea, but it would mean going to Philadelphia. Also you'd better mean it when you say you think it's interesting when I talk about science, because it would also involve a lot of that.”

Clint nodded. “Sounds fun; I like when you start talking science, even if I don’t always understand it.”

Bruce gave a pleased smile. Then it faded just slightly. “Although, how fast do you think we could get there? The place is only open until five. I think I’ve been spending too much time around Tony. He does that, you know,” Bruce waved his hand vaguely, “‘I’m Tony Stark, of course they’re open’ thing.”

Clint chuckled. “Well, it’s nearly one. We could try and make it now, or we could go tomorrow and make a day out of it. Your choice, Freckles.”

“Yeah, we should probably wait until tomorrow. I could definitely spend all day there. Got to spend at least twenty minutes watching the golf balls roll around, things like that.” He smiled cryptically. “I guess we’re back to square one on what to do today.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning on getting me into, Doc?” he asked with a smirk. “And we could just take a day and… relax for once.”

“I don’t think I actually know what that’s like,” Bruce said, his smile a little tense. 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I’m not really good at it either,” he admitted. “I guess you could watch me shoot. It’s not exactly exiting but you’ve mentioned wanting to see it,” he said with a shrug.

“Yes, definitely.” Bruce’s smile brightened. “I’d like that.”

Clint smiled. “Well then, if we’re done here we can head down to the archery and shooting range Stark put in.”

Bruce finally released his steadying hold on the countertop. “Lead the way,” he said.

Clint smiled and headed toward the range. When he and Bruce arrived he went over to where he had all his training equipment. “Just give me a minute,” he said as he put on finger tabs and his bracer.

“Not a problem,” Bruce said as he watched Clint’s practiced movements. He envied the smoothness, the confidence. Bruce was always second guessing his every move, so the thoughtless ease looked strange and beautiful.

Clint gave a small smile as he picked up his training bow. “Alright,” he said. “You know, I don’t think this will be nearly as interesting as you think it will,” he said with a smirk.

Bruce returned the lopsided smile, and replied, “Well, according to G. K. Chesterton, ‘There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people.’ And believe me, I’m very interested.”

Clint laughed. “Alright,” he said as he hung up a target. He stepped back and readied his bow. He took a deep breath and let all his thoughts rush to the forefront of his mind as he pulled the string back. He let the worry of screwing up whatever this was with Bruce flood him. He let completely meaningless thoughts in as well, calculations of his shot, and every thought that he kept locked up. Loki and the agents dead by his own hand. Barney lying on the ground, the look of betrayal obvious and painful. The fear he had felt when he realized for the first time he couldn’t hear.

He let every thought drown him.

And then he focused on only the bullseye as he let the arrow, and all his thoughts with it, go. Leaving his mind completely clear as he watched the arrow hit dead center.

Bruce lowered himself to the floor and sat, so that he could watch without distraction. He knew something about what parts of the musculature an archer used, both from examining Clint’s shoulder and from practicing his own stance. But now he saw it all come together, the way it was meant to, and make the arrows fly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Clint decided to show off a little as he began to rapid fire. Holding on to only one thought before sending it away with the arrow. He fired each one of them, waiting only enough time to get a new arrow before firing again. He continued until his quiver was empty; he was pleased to see that each arrow had landed on or remarkably close to the bullseye.

He turned, smiling brightly as he always did after a good practice. “So Freckles, was it what you were expecting?”

Bruce just stared for a moment, still caught up in the aesthetic perfection, the grace of it all. He blinked, trying to focus back on forming words. “…Wow,” he managed. “That was, uh…. Yes.”

Clint raised an eyebrow as he sat down next to Bruce. “And here I was thinking you’d get bored,” he said with a smirk.

Bruce shook his head slightly. “I don’t really get bored,” he said. “I’m not really allowed to be bored. I’ve got to be focused on something.” He smiled a little at Clint. “And that was definitely among the more pleasant things I’ve been able to focus on.”

“You just think I’m hot when I shoot,” Clint teased with a wink before getting up to retrieve his arrows.

Bruce grinned. “That’s definitely a contributing factor,” he agreed.

Clint laughed. “Only a factor, huh? If you don’t mind me asking, what are the other factors?” he asked curiously as he continued to retrieve his arrows.

Bruce closed his eyes as he tried to figure out how to word it. “There’s a precision in the movements… there are so many factors in getting the arrow to move in exactly the right direction with a given amount of force… there are so many factors, but in the end it comes down to a simple machine and a well-trained human body. It’s fascinating in its simplicity,” he said.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “If I had known you’d be so fascinated I would have thrown some fancier shots in. There’s one I have where I don’t even look at my target.” He smirked.

“You don’t have to do anything special,” Bruce said. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt your routine or anything.”

“Do I really strike you as the type to have a routine?” he asked. “I shoot whatever shots I feel the need to for as long as I can,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I feel like doing some more for a bit and then we can work on your stance.”

“That sounds great,” he said. Bruce knew that after more of that, he would be itching to get his hands on… well, Clint, but a bow would do.

Clint grinned before he began shooting once more. He did rapid fire, power shots, some standing still, others running or walking and even a few where he wasn’t looking. By the time he put his bow down, he was smiling brightly and looking relaxed in the way only a good session could make him. “Alright, Doc, you’re up,” he said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you wait for so long.”

“I really don’t mind,” Bruce said, standing up and sort of taking stock of his own body, curling and uncurling his fingers, as if to remind himself of where they were and how to work them. He very intentionally did not look at Clint as he did this; the other man was practically glowing with the energy his workout had brought out.

Clint put his own training bow away, taking Bruce’s out from where he had put it the previous night, and the tabs and bracer he had gotten while he was checking out. “You still want to do this arrowless?” he asked Bruce.

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out noisily through his mouth. “I think I could deal with arrows today,” he said eventually. He contemplated the target, the holes through it that represented force, the precision of their placement which represented control. “Yeah, I want to do this.”

Clint nodded as he set up new targets. “Okay, Doc.” He tossed him the tabs and bracer. “Put those on and we’ll get started.”

Bruce donned his new equipment, mimicking what he’d seen Clint do, and then decided to try the same with stringing his bow. It took more force than it looked like when Clint did it, but other than that it seemed straightforward enough. He smiled at the object that had come alive under his hands.

Clint smiled as he saw Bruce all ready to go. “Wow, Freckles, you are definitely a quick study.”

Bruce looked pleased. “I can be, if I pay attention,” he said. “So… arrows?”

He smiled and handed him a quiver full of arrows. “So, you just put an arrow in like I did,” he said; knowing Bruce had been paying such close attention made him sure he had picked up that much. “And then get into your stance.”

Bruce blinked at the quiver for a moment before taking it. It kept surprising him how much of the big secret of not thinking too much was just doing things instead. So he took out an arrow, examining the plastic clip on the end that must go over the string. He slotted the front of the arrow into what looked like the right place on the bow, and pressed the string into the notch on the back with his thumb, the way he had seen. He positioned his feet, and then pulled the string back.

Clint smiled. “Good,” he said as he stepped behind Bruce, using one hand to adjust his hip and the other to lower his elbow. “Okay, Doc, now this is a part I don’t know how to teach,” he said quietly, seeing as he was still extremely close. “Everyone has their own method. I let the thoughts flood me and then let them go along with the arrow. But not everyone can or wants that method. Just take deep breaths and imagine that target is the only thing you can see,” he said before removing his hands and taking a few steps back.

Bruce breathed and looked at the target, its lines and circles, the center of it. The arrow was right in front of him, and he tried to line it up with that point. He breathed once more, then realized he wasn’t going to get a better idea about what he was doing, and he just had to do it anyway. He let the string go.

The string snapped forward, the bow jerked up a little, and the arrow sailed over the target and slightly to its left.

“Well,” said Bruce. “That was… interesting.”

“Believe it or not, Doc, that wasn’t too bad.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not exactly a skilled teacher either,” he said a bit sheepishly. “How about this time I help out?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and gave a tiny, intrigued smile in Clint’s direction. “Now, what exactly does that mean?” he asked.

Clint smiled. “It means that I go behind you and I shoot with you, guide you through it until you have the hang of it.”

“That’s more or less what I thought,” Bruce said with good humor. “I just wonder if it’s going to be more distracting than helpful.”

Clint smiled flirtatiously. “Does that mean you don’t want to give it a try, Freckles?” he teased.

“I think I can take it,” Bruce said, a touch more seriously. “I just have to focus.” He nocked a second arrow and focused on his breathing.

Clint came up behind the other man and placed a hand over each of his. “Okay, remember, controlled but not tense. Deep breaths,” he said lowly into his ear. “And when you’re ready, let go.”

Bruce breathed and tried not to react to the warmth of the other body so close to his. Instead he looked at the target, listened to the words, paid attention to his stance and tried to relax… tried to ignore Clint’s breath on his neck and the hands steadying his.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then refocused on the target, tried to see only that, and then let go.

The arrow sliced into the top of the target.

Clint smiled as he moved his hands, resting one on Bruce’s shoulder. “That was pretty awesome. I’ll make an Archer out of you yet. Just wait and see.” He smiled. “Would it be easier to do it like that for awhile till you get the hang of it?”

“ _No,_ ” Bruce said emphatically. Then he turned his head to smile ruefully at Clint. “I mean, no, thank you, but that was actually incredibly distracting. I think I learned some things from it, though, so let me see what I can do with that.”

Clint laughed. “Nice to know I have such an effect on you, Doc.” He stepped away. “Okay, have at it.”

Bruce let himself enjoy the touch on his shoulder for the brief moment remaining before it was taken away. He sighed briefly, then took out another arrow.

As he emptied his quiver, some arrows hit the target and some didn’t. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he felt as if the bow were fighting him, being unpredictable just to spite him. The seething anger that was always present inside him was starting to make itself known.

Clint approached him when the last arrow was gone and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for one day, Doc,” he said softly, and then to be safe, “5,783.”

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed and thought. Then he looked at Clint with a frown and a tense laugh. “You’re terrible at this,” he said. “That’s a prime.”

“Sorry, Doc, I’ve never really been a numbers kind of guy… 9,473?” He began rubbing a random pattern on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce began to laugh, a bit unsteadily. “Another prime,” he said.

“Shit. Sorry, 3,250?” Clint said, continuing to tap a pattern on his shoulder hoping to at least give him something to focus on if the number was another screw up.

“Two, five, five, five, thirteen,” he murmured. Then he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it; the primes help too. I have to do all the same calculations to find out whether they’re prime; I don’t know them all above three figures. The primes just aren’t quite as…satisfying.” Now there was something self-mocking in his smile. “I guess it’s not just the Hulk that likes taking things apart.”

Clint nodded, continuing moving his hand on his shoulder, not really realizing it. “You do it mentally though, Freckles, big difference. And a common hobby.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together a bit. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said, waving a hand to indicate the bow and the target. “Me learning how to use a weapon. But all the things I’ve tried to do to keep the Hulk under control, they’ve all been trying to stop myself from going to that place, that state of mind where he wants to come out. And it never works; I always find myself back there again. So maybe it’s time I find out more about that part of myself.” He shook his head. “This isn’t safe, not in any way. But maybe it’s necessary.”

Clint nodded. “You know what I said the other day about how when you… let yourself become the Hulk, he seems to have a bit more of a leash… a bit more control. Maybe, and feel free to tell me to shut up, but maybe the best thing to do to avoid the Hulk is to… let him come out.”

Bruce bit his lip as he thought. “There might be something to that,” he said, “but that is something I’m definitely not ready to test. I’m taking enough risks.”

Clint nodded, removing his hand. “It’s something to think about,” he said as he went to take down the target.

“Well, I think I’ll leave it for now.” Bruce breathed and thought about possible tea blends until he felt settled enough to unstring his bow, a logical reverse of the process of stringing it that he thought he could handle. 

Clint turned and smiled when he saw he didn’t have to show destringing the bow. “So how early should we leave tomorrow for this mystery place you plan on taking me to?”

Bruce shifted slightly uncomfortably. “Well, that depends on the mode of transportation. I’m not all that comfortable being behind the wheel myself, but trains might also be problematic.”

He nodded. “Well I can drive, we can hail a cab, take a ferry. I don’t know where we’re going so I don’t know what’s best…. Whatever way you want to get there is how we’ll get there.” He shrugged.

“ _Not_ a cab.” Bruce twitched a little at the thought. “If you don’t mind driving, I think that would work best. Maybe around ten? Then we could get there around noon, do cool science-y things until five, then find somewhere to have dinner.”

Clint smiled. “Sounds good,” he said as he finished putting everything away. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah.” Bruce directed his smile at the floor, not sure what else to say. 

“So you heading to the labs?” Clint asked as he walked back towards him. “If Tony is anything like Tasha, he’s just waiting to grill you as soon as we’re done.”

“Oh. God, probably.” Bruce rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I should… not go there.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I’m not exactly looking forward to the Russian interrogation awaiting me,” he admitted. “We can’t avoid them forever, but I’m open to the suggestion of avoiding them for a few hours with you.” He flashed a smirk his way.

Bruce chuckled. “Is this going to turn into a champion-level game of hide-and-seek? Because as much practice as we’ve got avoiding detection, Natasha almost certainly has more, and, well, Tony has Jarvis.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I might be able to dodge Nat, but we’re screwed if Tony cheats with Jarvis.” He sighed. “Honestly I’m surprised they stayed away for this long,” he admitted.

“They’re probably spying on us right now, waiting to swoop in the moment we separate.” Bruce tried to keep a straight face as he said, “We must stay together, for safety.”

Clint kept his face blank and serious. “Well if it’s for safety, I suppose I can handle a few more hours of your company.”

Bruce chewed on his lip to keep from laughing. “What do you think, is in front of the TV a defensible enough position?”

Clint bit his lip and looked as though he was seriously considering. ”Well, I would have to secure the perimeter,” he said seriously. “But it should be safe if we stick close together.”

Bruce’s smile broke through his controlled expression at that. “Well, if it’s for safety,” he said, jostling his shoulder against Clint’s.

Clint smirked. “Oh, absolutely. Safety in numbers and all that.” He slid his arm around Bruce’s waist.

Bruce shook with silent laughter for a moment before he could speak again. “Well,” he said, “are we ready to brave the hallways?”

Clint nodded. “I think so,” he said with a slight smirk. “I’m mentally prepared for the perils ahead.”

“All right, let’s go,” Bruce said, starting towards the door. “Think we can afford to stop in the kitchen for supplies?”

“A necessary risk,” Clint said, following close behind.

Bruce sighed as he put on the kettle and rooted through the cupboards for an interesting tea. “I can’t decide between Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey,” he said finally.

“Well I don’t don’t know all that much about tea but with a name like Lapsang Souchong how can you go wrong?” he said as he grabbed a bag of chips for himself.

That startled a laugh out of Bruce. “Then I’ll definitely make a pot of that. If you’ve never had it before, I bet it’ll surprise you.”

He chuckled. “I’m game,” he said. “You want anything to eat?”

Bruce tapped his fingers against the side of the teapot as he thought. “I could eat cookies or something. What all is in there? I don’t usually go for the snack foods, but it seems appropriate today.”

“I’ll be honest, if I wasn’t on assignment for SHEILD, junk food was basically my entire diet.” He handed Bruce a package of Oreos. “Those work?”

“I can work with that,” he said, taking the cookies and putting them on the tray with the teapot. “Although, this is going to be a sort of odd combination.” The smoky smell from the teapot was beginning to make itself known. 

“Odd combinations are the best sort, Doc,” Clint said as he took a deep breath. “Smells pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, making his way to the couch. “They are.”

He smiled, picking up his own junk food. “Just look at us,” he said, looking around before turning back to Bruce, his face serious once more. “Area seems secure.”

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, then poured two cups of tea. He took his and dunked an Oreo in it. “Tastes almost like s’mores,” he said.

Clint raised an eyebrow “Really?” He poured himself a cup and did the same “Mmm, it does.” he said taking another bite and moaning in satisfaction “Another win for odd combos.”

Bruce nodded. “So what do you think we should watch?” he said as he dunked another cookie.

Clint shrugged. “I’m not picky when it comes to TV. We can try to see if Mythbusters is on or pop in a movie. Your choice, Freckles,” he said with a wink, dunking another cookie.

“I’m pretty sure Jarvis has all of Mythbusters saved somewhere in his systems, if only so he can keep a lookout for idiotic things Tony might try,” Bruce said. “That reminds me, have you ever split an arrow end to end with another arrow?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Clint shook his head. “No, that’s not possible as far as I know,” he said, dunking another cookie. “It would be pretty awesome if I could though.”

“Definitely would be impressive.” Bruce put his empty cup down and began rubbing one of his thumbs against the opposite palm nervously. “I think there are some more recent episodes I haven’t seen. We could get Jarvis to pick one, make sure it’s got explosions?”

Clint smiled. “Sounds great,” he said, watching Bruce fiddle with his hands. “Have I mentioned how cute you are when you do that?” he asked with a smirk as he motioned to the hands.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably a bit before smiling back. “Just another way to focus,” he said.

“Not complaining Freckles,” Clint said with a small smile. He slid closer to Bruce. “Now I believe you mentioned some exploding science?”

Bruce let himself lean against Clint a bit, but his hands didn’t stop their motions. “Jarvis, got something for us?”

“Yes, Doctor Banner. I believe so.” The television burst to life with whirling graphics and a teaser that involved sewer gas explosions and some kind of rubberized paint.

Clint smiled, putting his arm around Bruce and settling in, content to watch the show in comfortable silence.

Bruce took a while to get comfortable with the closeness, but then he got totally engrossed in the small-scale tests for the sewer gas explosion and the way they got around the air pressure resonance problem, and then maybe about two-thirds of the way through the episode, while they were testing a dog-proof suit, he actually dozed off on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint looked at Bruce to comment on something only to see he had fallen asleep.

He looked so peaceful in a way he never looked while he was awake, no matter how hard Clint tried to get him to relax. It was a nice change to see the scientist like this.

Clint gave one last fond smile before turning back to the show, careful not to wake Bruce.

Bruce woke up in a place that wasn’t a bed, which was hardly ever good. And there was warmth next to him, another person - he jerked up and away suddenly before he saw that it was Clint, and remembered the where and why. He sagged again with relief.

Clint looked at Bruce in concern. “Are you okay Doc?”

“Yes… I think.” Bruce’s eyebrows drew together as he thought. “I just… haven’t fallen asleep by accident like that in a very long time. And me and waking up somewhere unexpected aren’t exactly the best of pals.”

Clint nodded, understanding. “Sounds rough,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder and smirking. “You can fall asleep on me whenever you need to, Doc.”

Bruce rubbed at his eyes. “It’s really… odd, actually. But good. I think.” He still wore a minute frown. “I can’t usually let myself relax around people. Because I’m angry, and if they aren’t aware of what could happen, I can’t risk it, and if they are they’re usually scared, and the Other Guy hates that. So I just don’t.”

Clint smiled brightly. “Well, I’m glad you consider me someone you can relax around.”

“It’s not exactly something I consciously decided.” Bruce chuckled a little. “And definitely not anything I expected. But yeah. I’m starting to think maybe I can.”

Clint smiled. “Well, we’re on even ground then, because I find myself less on guard around you, too,” he admitted.

Bruce blinked at him. “Really?”

Clint nodded. “I mean I’m always aware of the Hulk, you don’t need to lecture me again on that but moments like this,” he shrugged, “I actually feel relaxed.” Clint gave a small smile.

“Yeah, no, okay, I just….” Bruce fumbled, searching for words. “I’m glad,” he said finally. “But I wonder how your life is normally that being constantly on the lookout for the Other Guy is a break for you.”

“With my training it’s not actually that hard; it’s instinct to assess the danger every time I walk in a room, a subconscious check list.” He shrugged. “The Other Guy is just a part of that checklist now.” He hesitated before continuing. “Doc, I told you about Jacques, and seriously considered telling you what happened next… that’s my equivalent of falling asleep on you.” He shrugged sheepishly.

Bruce’s expression went suddenly soft and grave, although it stayed hesitant. “I, uh… if anyone knows, I should, that there are some things you just don’t talk about because that would mean living them over again. But if you ever did feel like talking? You could.” 

Clint smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Freckles, and same to you.” 

Bruce smiled in return, then leaned back into the couch with a sigh. “I should probably go face the Stark Inquisition, see if he’s had any ideas on the nanomedical thing we’ve been doing.” 

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, I have my own interrogation to get to.” 

Bruce stood, sighing. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to that mystery place tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah; I hope you won’t think it’s completely boring.” He stood, shifting a little and fidgeting with his hands again. 

Clint smiled, looking at the fiddling hands (he hadn’t been exaggerating how cute he found the action). “I have yet to be bored around you, Doc,” he said sincerely. 

The corners of Bruce’s mouth quirked up. “It should be fun, then.” He meandered over to the elevator. “See you at ten.” 

Clint smiled. “Looking forward to it, Freckles,” he said with a smile. 

Bruce headed into the elevator and off to the labs, still surprisingly calm considering everything that had happened today and the overexcited Tony he would most likely be facing when he got there. In fact, he noticed himself humming. 

Clint went to his room and was unsurprised to find Natasha standing outside his door waiting. “You mind if we wait till I’m in my room before I get lectured?” he said as he opened his door and gestured to a chair before sitting on his bed. “Ok, shoot.” 

“I’ve been thinking for hours about all the different ways to tell you what an idiot you are.” 

“I hope you came up with some original ways; I’d hate for this to feel predictable,” Clint said with a smirk. 

“You think this is a joke. Listen, relationships are hard enough for people like us as is. Do you really need to complicate it any further?” 

“I’m not complicating anything,” Clint said with a shrug. “It’s actually all rather straightforward.” 

She glared. “You know what I mean, Clint.” 

“Yeah, Tasha, I do,” Clint said, standing up. ”I get it, the Hulk scares you, okay. I understand, you don’t scare easy but I see the way you tiptoe around Bruce.” 

“If you were smart you’d be scared too.” 

“I am!” Clint exclaimed. “God, Tash, I am… but not of the Hulk.” 

A look of comprehension crossed Natasha’s face as she finally sat in the chair. “I hadn’t realized,” she said softly. 

“You think I’d risk it, not just the Hulk but putting the balance of the team on the line, you think I’d disregard that for nothing?” 

Natasha sighed. “That’s different then,” she said quietly. “I mean I still think you're a reckless idiot.” 

Clint shrugged, smirking. “That’s okay; so does he.” 

Natasha smiled slightly, looking at him in a way Clint knew he didn’t have to say anything. Natasha had always been able to read him like an open book. “Well then, I meant what I said earlier. Don’t screw this up.” 

Clint smiled. “Yes ma’am.” 

\- 

“So what exactly is this thing between you and Barton?” 

Bruce stared at Tony balefully. 

“What’s with the look. Come on, Puffer Fish. I need to know what’s going on in my tower.” 

Bruce shook his head. “You ‘need’ this the way you ‘needed’ an eighteenth sports car in your garage.” 

Tony beamed. “Exactly! You understand. I need it.” 

“No, Tony, you don’t. You will still be perfectly all right if we forget about this and just start working.” 

Tony squinted at Bruce as he sorted computer files on his display using only peripheral vision. He wasn’t going to say it aloud, but he was making his point. Bruce knew how much Tony’s mind could do at one time, how much it took to fill his brain to capacity. He knew that Tony depended on that to avoid feelings almost as much as he did. When he wasn’t using his other addictions, like alcohol and adrenaline (hence the cars). 

Bruce sighed. “Fine.” 

“Excellent. So what’s the story? You getting lucky with our lovely Katniss?” 

Bruce glared for a moment, then put his face in his hands and groaned. “I don’t know,” he said. 

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said. “Why not?” 

“Last week there was a simple answer to this question. No. Not ever. Not with anyone. It’s not safe.” 

“That,” said Tony, “is bullshit. Just so you’re aware.” 

“No, it’s not, Tony. It’s what I have to do. It’s the only conclusion that makes sense.” 

“Okay, let’s pretend for the moment that I think that has any validity at all. What’s gotten you to reconsider?” 

Bruce took a deep breath, let it out, and found himself smiling a little despite himself. “Sometimes life stops making sense,” he said, “and it turns out that was exactly what you needed.” 

Tony’s smile was irrepressible after that, and he didn’t ask anything more on that subject, just got straight back to the work.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce sat in the kitchen, omelet and a tilia flower tea blend in front of him, fork in one hand and battered copy of The Caves of Steel in the other. He was carefully cultivating defenses, layers of calm and preoccupation, because today of all days, he needed to be in control. He was going to be surrounded by chaos, noise and small children. Nothing he couldn’t handle, he knew, but he needed to be extra sure. 

Clint wandered into the kitchen and smiled when he saw Bruce. “Hey Doc,” he said, sitting down. “I see you survived the inquisition.” 

Bruce gave a somewhat absent smile in return. “Yeah, not too bad, actually. I expected more teasing, but we got to work pretty quickly.” He took another sip of his tea, and then asked, “How about you? No lasting injuries?” 

He shrugged. “Not as bad as I expected,” he said. “So you going to tell me exactly where I’m driving us today or is it still a surprise?” 

“It’s a museum,” Bruce said, smiling a little secretively. “I went there a couple of times when I was younger and I always wanted to go back.” He tucked his book into a pocket and focused on finishing his breakfast. 

Clint smiled, getting up to get himself something to eat. “Sounds fun.” 

“I hope so. I don’t know how much it’s changed since the last time I was there. Some of the exhibits have probably worn out from people playing with them.” 

“That probably won’t matter too much,” he said with a shrug as he poured cereal for himself. 

“Yeah, they’ll have some cool new things, probably. But there are a couple of things I really hope are still there.” Bruce smiled to himself. “But first, we’ll need to take in the wonders of nearly the entire length of the New Jersey Turnpike.” He grimaced slightly. “Why did I think this was a good idea, again?” 

He smiled. “You’ll be fine, Doc, you wouldn’t suggest anything you didn’t know you could handle.” 

Bruce nodded as he finished the last of his omelet, then pushed his plate aside in favor of cradling his teacup in his hands. “I don’t have a lot of fond memories of my childhood,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying not to remember. But now that I’m not running… the memories are catching up, and I guess I forgot a few good things along with the bad.” 

Clint nodded. “I think it’s like that for a lot of people. It’s easier to remember the bad, I guess, and the good can kind of get lost in that.” 

“Everything’s been oddly… pleasant, for me, recently. I keep expecting to wake up.” Bruce finished his tea. “Oh well, might as well enjoy this dream while it lasts.” 

Clint smirked. “As flattering as it is that you consider me dreamy, I assure you I’m real.” 

Startled laughter escaped Bruce. “That’s good,” he said, “because I don’t want to wake up.” 

He smiled. “Sounds good to me,” he said as he took his final bite before putting his bowl in the sink. “After all, it’s not every day I find out I’m someone’s dream guy.” He gave a wink. 

Those winks always threw Bruce a little off balance, but not in a bad way. He got up, taking care of his own dishes and re-settling his layers of calm before speaking again. “Ready to go?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his face. 

Clint did a quick mental checklist. Hearing aids in with new batteries, emergency bow in the trunk, full tank of gas. “Yep, we’re set,” he said with a smile. 

“Great.” Bruce took a deep breath and headed for the elevator. 

Clint smiled slightly as he stood next to him and hit the button for the garage. 

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Bruce said, eyes still gazing at nothing as the insulating layer of thoughts rolled through his head. “It’s been a long time since I did anything because it was what I wanted.” 

Clint smiled brightly. “Well, I’m glad you decided to bring me along.” The elevator door opened and he headed to his car. 

Bruce chuckled a little as he approached the car. “I hate to admit it but Tony’s right. I’d just stay wrapped up in my work and never leave the tower if I didn’t have anyone to drag me away sometimes.” 

“Well, I’ll drag you wherever you want.” He paused. “That sounded much less creepy in my head,” he said as he closed his door 

“Believe me, that is among the least creepy things I’ve heard people say when they intend to transport me somewhere.” Bruce pulled the passenger side door closed, trying not to think of being enclosed in a small metal container, and mostly succeeding. “Even when it was my idea. Hitchhiking is… really interesting sometimes.” 

Clint raised an eyebrow as he started the car. “I imagine you have some pretty interesting stories… any particularly good ones?” 

“Nothing really entertaining I can think of at the moment. Just… people who clearly have troubles of their own are the ones more likely to take pity on a hitchhiker, you know?” Bruce chewed on his lip a little as he thought. “And then there’s the roads. There are some sections of road in India that are so dangerous that a priest will set up shop to bless everyone before they drive across it.” 

“I get that,” Clint said. “When Barney and I left the orphanage we hitchhiked too. And when I left Buck, before SHEILD picked me up, I basically hitchhiked everywhere whenever I felt the need to relocate.” He shrugged. “Really, wow. I don’t think I’ve been down that particular road.” 

Bruce nodded. “Of course most of those roads are farther north than where I ended up spending most of my time. There are… so many problems, there. I never got bored, never ran out of reasons to move from place to place if I thought I’d become too easy to find.” 

Clint nodded. “The bigger the place the easier it is to get lost in,” he agreed. “But trust me, Doc, you were never easy to find.” 

Bruce turned to look at Clint with slightly narrowed eyes. “You were looking?” 

“Not me exactly,” he said. “SHEILD wanted to keep an eye on you; I heard complaints about how hard you were to pinpoint.” He shrugged. “I made it clear that I didn’t think stalking a guy who was just trying to help people was needed or smart. I didn’t really have a say in it, though, but they never gave me the assignment so I didn’t cause to much of a fuss.” He looked at Bruce “Sorry…. I thought you knew.” 

“No, it’s not… it just hadn’t occurred to me.” Bruce sighed a little. “I don’t even hold it against SHIELD; not much at least. It makes sense that someone would be trying to track me down. But I tried not to think about it, because the Other Guy seems calmer when no one’s chasing us.” 

“It was never in the plan to bring you in or anything, just observe. They do that with possible recruits and threats…. You, uh… fell under both categories.” He gave a small smile. “But most of us are.” 

Bruce nodded. “Well, I do have enough identities to go around.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Listen, can we talk about something else for right now? I’m taking enough risks today without getting riled up over this.” 

“Of course.” He smiled. “So do you ever wonder who got the idea to combine peanut butter and jelly and put it on bread? And how exactly did that combination pop into their head.” He gave a smirk. 

Bruce chuckled quietly before putting on a mock-serious expression of a professor giving an important lecture. “Well, bread products and fruit preserves have a long history together, since they are affordable, easy to keep and prepare, digestible, and have wide appeal. When peanut butter was invented, it was because there was a need for a source of protein that fit into those same categories. So I’d venture a guess that PB&J has been around almost as long as peanut butter itself.” 

Clint nodded seriously. “There really should be more documentation of such a monumental piece of history.” 

“There probably is; I’m not exactly up on my botanical history.” Bruce suppressed his laughter. “And what I do remember about George Washington Carver and his contributions to the advancement of peanut science tends more to crop rotation and nutrition, rather than serving suggestions.” 

Clint gave a exasperated sigh. “Great, now I have to find a peanut butter expert because I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep with this on my mind.” He bit his lip to keep from smiling. 

Bruce snorted. “If it’s that essential, we could always call Jarvis and ask him.” 

He chuckled. “Nah, I _think_ I can suppress the curiosity for the day.” 

Bruce laughed. “You know, I’m almost curious enough myself now? Although I don’t think I’ll have to resort to Jarvis.” He pulled out his phone and began playing with it. “I just like knowing things, but I haven’t gotten used to the internet being everywhere yet. No smartphones out in the wilds.” 

Clint chuckled. “Oh thank god, I was seriously going to spend all day obsessed with the answer,” he confessed. 

Bruce grinned. “All right, so in Carver’s pamphlet, _How to Grow the Peanut and 105 Ways of Preparing it for Human Consumption_ , there is a recipe for peanut butter sandwiches, but he recommends blending the peanut butter with cream to make it softer. Probably because he was writing for poor farmers and that would have been more widely available. But actually the first written mention of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches was fifteen years before that, by Julia Davis Chandler, who was a food columnist. Carver made peanuts affordable, but the gourmet people already knew about them.” 

“Huh. PB&J gourmet food. who knew?” Clint flashed a smirk. “Now every time I eat one I’ll feel especially fancy.” 

Bruce chuckled. “Well, that was in 1901. All processed foods were new and interesting once. Is fancy ketchup still fancy?” 

“Of course,” he said, wearing his serious face. “Ketchup has to be the fanciest thing I’ve ever consumed. I feel privileged each time I have some.” He broke and flashed a smile. 

Bruce laughed. “Ketchup is pretty special.” He let his gaze drift out to the landscape moving outside the window. 

Clint smiled. “Indeed it is.” He turned on the radio softly as he saw Bruce drift, content to just drive unless he wanted to talk. 

A lot of trees and a lot of thoughts about how wrong Asimov’s projected future had been later, they crossed their second river/state line of the day and entered Philadelphia. Bruce directed Clint into the streets of center city and into a parking garage marked Franklin Institute. 

Clint followed the directions he was given and parked in an available spot. “Ready, Doc?” 

Bruce took a deep breath as he exited the car, smelling the subtly different scent of this city from the one he had gotten used to. City smells were different, but not bad, once you got used to them (well, except for Gary). “Yeah,” he said. “I can do this. This is worth it.” He headed for the elevator. 

They came out of the elevator into the atrium, a huge room full of skylights, metal walkways and dark-speckled concrete floors. Bruce went to a kiosk to buy tickets and validate parking. Above their heads, a young girl pedaled a specially weighted bicycle along a tightrope. She watched the crowd below through the netting with wide eyes. 

Clint looked around in a sort of awe. As a kid he’d never really been to places like this. There weren’t exactly field trips in the orphanage, and as much as the circus traveled, he didn’t really ever leave. Afterwards he just… never had time. Especially once he joined SHEILD; when he did have downtime he usually used it to unwind. 

He could see now that he had most certainly missed out on a few things. 

Bruce turned away from the ticket counter to see Clint’s wide eyes, and he smiled, just a little bittersweet, because it reminded him that he’d wanted to bring his own kids here, and that was never going to happen. But he was glad that Clint was enjoying this, and maybe he could have part of that experience, anyway. 

They both got paper bracelets that represented that they’d paid for the day, and Bruce began walking towards the far side of the room. “There’s some exhibits I want to be sure to see, but if we have time, we should see a movie while we’re here. A lot of people find the Tuttleman theater setup makes them dizzy, but I have a feeling you’d like it.” 

Clint nodded. “Sounds good, Freckles,” he said, still taking everything in. “You’re the expert here.” He flashed Bruce a smirk. 

They walked from the atrium into a less modern part of the building, with marble floors, intricate moldings, and a tremendously large marble staircase arranged in a square around a slowly swaying steel cable. Bruce leaned against the railing and pointed downwards. 

A huge shining metal sphere, two floors down, moved back and forth at the end of the cable. An intricate pattern was inlaid into the floor beneath it. Tiny pegs, like board game pieces, stood in a circle around it, but some of them were knocked over. 

“Conservation of momentum means that the pendulum will continue to swing in as straight a line as possible,” Bruce said. “So why do more and more pegs get knocked over?” 

Clint hesitated slightly as he watched the pendulum swing. “Domino effect? One peg can take down multipule ones with it? Or maybe it moving creates some wind and the pressure knocks a few over? Or maybe a combination?” He shrugged. “That’s my best guess, at least from what I can see from here.” 

Bruce shook his head, smiling. “It’s the earth’s rotation,” he said. “The pendulum moves in as regular a line as it can, considering the world is spinning under it. If you look at it long enough, you can see the earth move.” 

“Hmm... that’s actually pretty cool,” he said with a smile. He’d never been the book smart sort, not to say he wasn’t smart in his own right. He was just better at learning things by doing them, by instinct. 

School was never the best place for him to learn if only because he quickly became distracted and restless. With Bruce, however, it was different. He never found himself getting bored or restless. “You learn something new everyday,” he said with a small smile. 

“We could go down and take a closer look. Or do something else. I hope they still have that thing with all the golf balls. I remember it being out there in the hall.” Bruce gestured at the open marble space behind them. “At least I know they still have the giant heart; I saw signs for that.” 

Clint nodded. “Like I said, Doc, you're the expert in here, I follow your lead.” He gave a smirk. 

Bruce found himself smiling self-consciously and turned his attention to the museum map. “Most of this looks completely changed around, but Sir Isaac’s Loft looks promising. That’s up one floor.” He started up the huge, shallow stairs. “I don’t see the fourth floor on here. I wonder if they still have the math stuff?” 

“We can check it out later,” Clint said as he followed the other man. 

People passed them on the stairs, many of them excited children, and Bruce tried to appreciate that but kept his focus on the lazy swing of the pendulum below them. Once they left the stairwell and navigated through some hallways, they came out into a room full of noise and motion. 

“There it is!” Bruce said excitedly. He took the few steps down into the right side of the room, where a tremendous glass case contained a mess of metal shapes, curved clusters of rods and odd devices, and there was the constant motion of golf balls of all colors along and between them, making noise as they rolled or bounced off obstacles, wooden blocks, metal chimes, and the head of a drum. 

Clint barely saw the exhibit, focused on the excited, almost childish glee on Bruce’s face, causing him to smile brightly as well. 

“Look at it! It’s chaos in action. Chaos perfectly intertwined with order so you can see it at work. Where the paths split, there are so many factors in which way each ball goes. There’s no predicting it.” Bruce sat down on a convenient bench to watch, eyes glued to the movement inside the case. 

Clint dragged his eyes away from the excited man as he sat next to him and watched. It wasn’t as good as watching Bruce, but it was interesting. “There’s so much going on in there… hard to keep track.” 

“It helps if you just choose one and focus in on it. I’m following that pink one there.” Bruce gestured to a neon pink golf ball that was waiting on a platform alongside two others, until a fourth ball joined them and the platform tipped, sending them all moving again. 

He nodded and found a dark purple ball to focus on, trying to see it through Bruce’s eyes. 

Bruce listened to the unpredictable rhythms, which nonetheless had reassuring repetition, like the descending pitch of the balls bouncing through the array of hollow wooden blocks. He turned to look at Clint, watching the archer’s slight frown of concentration. 

If there was one thing Clint was good at, it was keeping an eye on a target. He watched the purple ball as intensely as he would a bullseye, biting his lip in concentration. 

Bruce watched as the archer worried at his lip; he really wanted to kiss Clint, but that would be a bad idea for several reasons. So he turned back to find his pink golf ball again. It was waiting in line to be shot back up to the top by the air cannon. 

Every now and then Clint would risk losing track of his ball to look at Bruce for a bit. And he was pretty sure Bruce was doing the same thing, because sometimes he could feel eyes on him; the thought made him smile slightly. 

“Whenever one of the balls gets shot back up to the top, that puts energy into the system, and most of that is released as noise - and a lot as heat, too. You can usually tell how efficient a machine is at what it’s supposed to be doing by how much unnecessary heat and noise it’s producing along the way.” 

Clint nodded, absorbing the information. “So,” he bit his lip in thought, “this one is inefficient,” he asked more than stated, his eyes still tracking his purple ball. 

“Well, it depends what you think its purpose is,” Bruce answered, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You could say that the noises it makes are what it’s supposed to be doing, so since most of the energy becomes noise, it’s pretty efficient that way. Or you could say that its purpose is to be inefficient, so one hundred percent of the energy put in is wasted energy. It’s a perfect illustration of complete inefficiency.” 

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Just like everything else.” 

“Perspective can make all the difference,” Bruce agreed. His expression turned thoughtful as he stared off, through the mess of machinery this time, rather than at it. 

Bruce seemed to have dived into his thoughts. Clint gave a fond smile as he turned back to the ball and let himself fall into his own thoughts. 

It was several minutes before Bruce came back to himself. The random-yet-organized sounds of the sculpture were peculiarly relaxing. He blinked, and turned to look at Clint again. “We, uh. We could go do something else. At this rate we won’t see much of the museum.” 

Clint stood, nodding. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way, Freckles.” 

They made their way around the rest of the huge room, which had many more exhibits that moved in different ways - sets of several pendulums that made patterns as they swung, pulley systems, and a machine something like a spirograph that drew patterns with light. Bruce steered clear of the Bowling Ball of Doom. That kind of instinctual panic was not on his to-do list for the day. 

Clint took everything in, occasionally asking a question or making a comment on an exhibit, some exhibits interesting him more than others. 

Bruce looked at his watch. “Let’s go see the giant heart next, and then we could maybe catch the last showing of the space junk short film? There’s way too much stuff to see all of it, but I want to know how much smaller that stuff looks now than when I was a kid.” 

Clint chuckled and nodded. “Sure thing, Freckles. And hey, maybe we can come back in a month or so and see the rest?” 

Bruce’s reaction was a small, surprised smile. “If you want. I feel like I must be boring you to death. I don’t know how to talk to people who are… people.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. 

“Believe me when I say you have never been even close to boring me, Doc,” he said with a small wink. 

Bruce’s face crinkled in a bright but still somewhat embarrassed smile. “That’s good,” he said. “All right. Back down the stairs and to the giant heart!” 

Clint followed Bruce with a smile on his face. 

At the bottom of the stairs, they turned the opposite way down the marble hall than where they had come in, and they went through a tall archway and into a huge room dominated by a two-story-tall, lumpy construction, painted in various shades of red, white and purple. The loud, steady sound of a heartbeat permeated the air. 

“That’s actually much uglier than I remembered,” Bruce commented. 

Clint laughed. “I guess things that are impressive as a kid have a way of being less so as an adult.” 

“Yeah; it’s still pretty impressive in some ways, though.” Bruce walked towards the lumpy construction. “The anatomy can’t be very accurate at this scale, either. Ready to journey through a giant, deformed circulatory system?” 

Clint smiled and batted his eyelashes. ”Oh, Doc, I thought you’d never ask,” he said in a swooning tone, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. 

Now Bruce was grinning outright, and he led the way into the shadowy space between the giant heart and the wall on the right. Little oval signs in the walls labeled their location - first the right atrium, then the right ventricle. The path was cramped and twisted, and full of stairs that went up, then down, then up again, until they found themselves on top of the heart, overlooking the room from a small walkway labeled as the pulmonary artery. 

“I hafta say, Doc, it’s pretty cool walking around a giant heart… even if it is ugly.” He smiled at the other man. 

“And completely deformed,” Bruce said, returning the smile. “It’s frightening. But with the right company… pretty great, yeah.” He moved further along the walkway, which led back into the wall. “Ready to brave the lungs?” 

He smiled at the man. “ _Lungs?_ Oh, Doc, you know how to sweep a girl off her feet.” He batted his eyelashes again, this time not being able to hold in the laugh. 

Bruce shook with silent laughter. He led the way into a corridor proclaiming itself to be the lungs, and flashing with blue and red lights. From there, the twisting path continued, through the left atrium, the left ventricle, and the aorta, finally depositing them out into the room again. 

Clint was smiling brightly as they walked. “I have to say, Freckles, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while.” 

Bruce smiled that same smile that he’d worn so often since this began - bright, self-conscious, disbelieving, and his head ducked down, partially obscuring it. “Me too,” he said. 

Clint smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “So, shall we continue?” 

Bruce’s expression went soft and somehow longing at the touch. Then he straightened, remembering the people around them. “Yeah, let’s go see about that movie.” 

Clint smiled softly. “Lead the way, Doc.” 

Back through the marble hall and out into the atrium again, and Bruce went to the counter to buy tickets. Then they went across the large room, up a few steps to a raised area. One of the walls near them had entrances to a gift shop and another machine-oriented exhibit area. The other, which they were heading towards, had doors and several large windows that seemed to reveal just a little of a darkened area full of yet more machines. 

Bruce gestured to the exhibit as they passed. “I remember that area being an imitation rainforest or something,” he said. “Maybe after the movie we’ll have time to check out the new stuff there.” 

He nodded. “Sounds great,” he said sincerely. “Afterwards we can go and find a place to eat.” 

“Yeah… I don’t know what you’d want to eat, but I’m sure there are a ton of options.” They filed into the theater with the crowd, and… this was just as impressive as Bruce had remembered. The seating didn’t go straight up, but each row’s necks were on a level with the previous row’s feet. The screen was a huge hemisphere, like a planetarium turned on its side. Two steep sets of steps ran up the sides, following the curve of the screen. And it still made Bruce dizzy. 

Clint let out a low whistle. “Woooow,” he muttered. “This is the coolest theater ever.” 

“Thought you might appreciate it.” Bruce smiled as he started up the stairs on the near side. “The best seats are the ones nearest the projector.” He gestured to a structure in the middle of the seating area. “Much less distortion in the really immersive shots.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, Doc,” Clint said, still looking around the amazing theater. 

Bruce climbed, heading for a seat a couple of rows above the projector. “The place says IMAX on it now, but it was around way before IMAX, and is way cooler. Of course, that means not a lot of things get filmed that take full advantage of it, but there are usually a couple of short films. You have to film with a fisheye lens.” 

Clint followed him, taking a seat next to him. “I imagine it’s still impressive even if it doesn’t take full advantage of it,” he said, looking around. “You said this place makes you dizzy?” 

“Now that I’m sitting down, it’s not so bad,” said Bruce, turning his head to look around at the space. “Moving through it was just a bit… unsettling. There’s a certain mismatch between expectations and reality about which way is actually down.” 

He nodded. “Understandable; I guess it didn’t get me.” He shrugged. 

Bruce chuckled. “You jump off of buildings on a semi-regular basis. I never thought this would take you off-guard.” 

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess falling off a building is more distorting than this,” he said, casually putting his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. 

Since Bruce was sitting down, he could take in the sensation more easily than before; it was a warmth that both relaxed and energized him, and he leaned into it slightly. The seats in the theater were filling up, and soon a museum employee with a microphone was explaining the proper exit procedures (through the doors at the top), then talking about the history and construction of the theater. 

“I remember there being a short piece about the city before the show I saw,” Bruce said, whispering now. “I wonder if they still do that.” 

Clint smiled as he felt Bruce relax into him. “Well I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” he whispered. “Was it something you liked as a kid?” 

“Yeah.” Bruce focused on the screen as the house lights went down and the screen lit up. There was a short about the city, but Bruce thought it was different - the music wasn’t quite what he remembered. But it still had those dizzying shots of the city from above, taken from a helicopter. Bruce stiffened slightly as the vertigo made a reappearance, the camera tipping down towards the streets, the huge screen dominating his sense of spatial awareness. 

Clint, for his part, was into it, the effects affecting him only by impressing him. He got as close to Bruce as the seats would allow. 

Bruce found it surprisingly easy to settle again, and he thought it might have something to do with the arm wrapped tightly around him. Somehow it didn’t matter what was up or down when you had someone to catch you. 

Bruce chuckled to himself as he wondered if that was how Clint felt when Hulk was around. He was still an idiot. But now Bruce thought he might understand a little more. 

So when the main feature started and the huge screen filled with directionless starfields and positions far above Earth, Bruce forgot to feel disoriented and just enjoyed himself. 

Clint smiled, completely content, his hand lazily rubbing Bruce’s shoulder. 

He’d never had this. Not with Tasha, or even Barbara. They had been the only two people he’d ever wanted to pursue a relationship with till Bruce. 

With Bruce it was… easy. Silences didn’t need to be filled, they both taught each other things and to Clint’s surprise trusted one another. Something he knew wasn’t easy for either of them. 

He had a habit of ruining good things; past experiences had taught him this. But this was one thing he was determined not to. 

Bruce was pretty well immersed in the movie when something made him tense; he didn’t know what. Someone watching them? But Bruce was used to that feeling. Someone generally was, when he left the tower. He closed his eyes to think for a moment. This reminded him of the feeling he’d gotten when Loki had been marched past the laboratory on the Helicarrier. 

He listened to the rustle of the crowd around them. There wasn’t any reason to think there was danger here, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. 

There were footsteps on the stairs, up and to the left; someone making their way down. Bruce turned to look. It was hard to see in the dark, but the man looked like he was wearing some kind of costume, red and black. 

Annoyance bubbled up inside Bruce. It had to be here, now? Of course it did. 

Clint felt Bruce tense and was immediately on alert. He looked at the spots he had identified as weak spots; in one of them was a figure. He heard footsteps then and turned to see someone in red and black heading down. “Damn it, not these guys,” he muttered. He turned to Bruce. “We have to get everyone out of here.” 

Bruce nodded, mind racing and attempting to keep calm. He hated drawing attention to himself, and it was usually a very bad idea. But there weren’t many better options here. One of them was going to be a target, and he was the one who couldn’t die. So he braced himself, face tensing into the scowl that his other face knew so well, and he stood. “EVERYBODY OUT!” he roared. And then, for good measure, “FIRE!” 

The rush of people threatened to overwhelm the costumed man, but he only grinned like a skeleton and took to the air, standing on some kind of star-shaped device. 

“Of course he can fly,” Bruce muttered. “It’s always got to get worse.” 

And then he noticed the second man in the same costume, approaching from the opposite direction at the bottom of the theater. 

In the commotion Clint grabbed a pistol from his ankle holster and made certain his dagger was still in its place. “I fucking hate these guys,” he snarled. Soon only he, The Grimm Brothers and Bruce remained. “Bruce,” he muttered, eyes looking everywhere for where he could have a tactical advantage, “how fast you think you could get to my car?” 

“I think I…. Wait. You mean without you.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at Clint. “Sorry, not happening.” 

The lower of the two costumed men was striding up the stairs, and the first, still in the air, was now running a golden thread between his fingers. 

Clint took a deep breath. “I have a bow in the trunk, trust I can hold these guys off. But I’d feel a lot better if I had my bow.” He looked at Bruce. “I’d follow if I didn’t think keeping dumb and dumber confined was the best option here.” He fired a shot when one of the brothers got too close, unsurprised when it didn’t land (seriously, how did such big guys manage to move so fast?); he hated guns comparatively to his bow. 

“As much as I’d hate to smash up this room,” Bruce replied, dodging an egg-shaped projectile which then broke open and proceeded to eat its way through one of the seats, “I’d hate it a lot more if I left and came back later to find out that you were wrong about that.” 

Clint felt both annoyed but touched that Bruce refused to follow his game plan. He fired another shot and received a pie that had crows coming out of it, one scratching him as it flew by. God, he hated these guys. “I’m assuming you have an alternate plan?” 

“OK, so maybe I’m not the best tactician,” Bruce said, “but I don’t know how long I’d be able to hold it together if I left you here. It shouldn’t take them long to evacuate the rest of the building.” 

The first of the brothers tossed one end of his golden thread to the second, and it stretched between them, coming closer. 

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Bruce, don’t let the thread touch you,” he said as he rolled to cover. “We stay here till it’s evacuated and find a better tactical position.” 

Bruce climbed up and over one row of seats to avoid the approaching thread. He tried to think of something that would be more useful for him to do than provide a second target for the various missiles that were still being thrown in their direction. Nothing came to mind, and the stupidity of the whole situation made anger roil up inside him. 

Well, maybe there was something he could do. 

“Do you know who I am?” he said, glaring at one of the costumed men and then the other. “Do you know what a terrible idea it is to make me angry?” 

The first of the brothers just laughed. The second said, “Go ahead. Let Hulk out. Tear this place up. He may be indestructible, but we’re only after Hawkeye.” 

The words only made Bruce angrier, but the important thing was that those two were looking at him, for the moment, and not Clint. 

Clint used the distraction to fire a shot, ducking back into cover before he could register if it hit. “Oh, come on, guys, I know we’ve had problems in the past, but you two are mature psychopaths; can’t we just talk this out?” He fired another shot, hitting one of the brothers in the shoulder. 

The injured man swore, and the golden thread floated towards the ground. The other brother said through his teeth, “Don’t make this personal, Hawk. This is all just business.” 

The first, breathing hard and clutching his shoulder, said, “Until you went and shot me.” 

Noxious smoke began to flow from their hands, drifting towards Clint. 

“Shit,” Clint muttered, holding his breath as he rolled out of his cover, away from the gas. He looked at the door; surely by now they had evacuated the place. He couldn’t stay here anymore, it wasn’t defensible. “Bruce,” he called out. “I think it’s time we head out.” With that he ran toward the exit as best as he could. 

Bruce scrambled upright and headed for the nearest door, at the top of the stairs. One of the brothers threw something - it looked like beans? - which sprouted into vines on the stairs, nearly tripping him, but he managed to avoid them without falling over. Then they were through the door onto the third floor balcony over the atrium, now deserted except for a couple of security guards still lingering near the exits. 

Bruce took a huge, relieved breath at being on more level terrain, then managed to speak. “Stairs are to the left,” he said, looking to Clint. 

Clint nodded. “I _really_ hate those guys,” he muttered once more. “We should keep moving, get to my bow if we can.” 

Bruce nodded and headed for the stairs. They got down to the main floor and were halfway across the atrium to the parking garage stairs before the Brothers Grimm started floating down from the balcony. 

They were so close, but Clint couldn’t get to his bow with the Brothers blocking his way and he could see how tense Bruce was. “Bruce, remember that talk we had about letting him out instead of keeping him caged… I hate to ask but I think right now is a good time to test that theory,” he muttered, his eyes darting around for any sort of tactical advantage he could gain. 

“Testing is one thing,” Bruce said. “This is something else.” And he changed, growling up at the floating villains, who backed off slightly. 

“Keep them busy big guy!” Clint said as he rolled his way to the door and opened it and sprinted into the parking ramp, running as quick as he could to his car. 

Hulk grabbed for the brothers, and they dodged proficiently, but they couldn’t get near the parking garage doors. They pelted him with little stinging eggs, but he didn’t move. Hulk growled in frustration, but somehow he knew he couldn’t run after and smash one of them. He couldn’t leave the door. 

WHY? he asked himself, eyes tracking the hovering villains with ferocious focus. 

_Because Clint,_ came the answer from somewhere. 

That was all the answer Hulk needed. 

Clint opened his trunk and grabbed his emergency bow. It didn’t have as many features as his favorite one but it was sturdy and had normal arrows and exploding ones and would more than work against the Brothers Grimm. He picked it up and put on his brace and finger tabs as he ran back. 

The Brothers were getting impatient. The eggs didn’t seem to have any effect. The paralytic powder had started to work, but Hulk had shaken it off fairly quickly, and when delivering it, one of them had almost been batted out of the air. They were stretching a new gold thread between them, when Clint arrived. 

Clint wasted no time and aimed and fired for one of the brothers' hands, his aim not letting him down as it hit dead center in the right hand. “Thanks for that, Big Guy,” he said to the Hulk before firing another arrow at the other brother's hand. 

Hulk grunted happily in response. Clint was here, ready to fight. He could MOVE. 

Hulk leapt, almost grabbing one of the brothers, though he dodged just fast enough. 

“Suddenly this seems like a bad investment,” he said, flying away from the two Avengers. 

His brother, still clutching his wounded shoulder, followed. “Yeah. Time to bail out.” 

Hulk wanted to chase, but he looked at Clint, waiting for instructions. 

Clint wasn’t sure why the Hulk was staring until he realized that he was waiting for… _Permission?_

“Okay Big Guy-” but he never got to finish that instruction as he heard a growl from the parking garage. 

He turned to see yet another familiar face. “Baxter? Is there some convention for people who hate me going on I wasn’t made aware of?” 

Mad Dog gave an animalistic chuckle before launching himself at the archer. 

Hulk turned to the new person curiously. He smelled more dangerous than the two who had run. That proved right when he jumped at Clint. Hulk slammed a hand down between the two, and growled. 

Mad Dog looked at the beast who had come between him and his prey; he let out low growl. His instincts said run, but that would mean abandoning the hunt, something he wasn’t fond of at all. 

He suddenly felt a stab of pain and whimpered before removing the arrow with a snarl. 

Clint prepared another arrow. “Hulk, bites bad,” he said as he aimed another arrow. He was sure the bite wouldn’t kill him but wasn’t sure if the paralyzing effects would work. Best not to risk it. 

Hulk stared the new enemy down, then knocked him over, smashing him face first into the concrete floor. 

Mad dog attempted to get up, biting uselessly at the arm of the enemy but stopped after Clint landed another shot. 

“I’ll have a team come and scrape him off the floor,” Clint said. “As for you and me, Big Guy, we should get back to the tower and find out why I’m suddenly public enemy number one,” he said as he looked at the heap on the ground that was Mad Dog. 

Hulk growled at the mooshed villain for a moment more before dragging his eyes back to Clint. “Hawk safe?” 

Clint smiled, putting a hand on Hulk's arm. “Yeah, Big Guy, I’m safe for now. Thank you.” 

Hulk took one more wary look around the abandoned atrium, then blinked slowly and began to shrink, collapsing onto his knees and then, as the green receded, slumping to the floor. 

It was odd to be aware of the transformation back, Bruce thought. He knew when the Hulk ceded control, but he couldn’t take it up himself fast enough to keep from falling. He blinked concrete dust out of his eyes, a sadly familiar feeling. But as he sat up, he saw the damage was surprisingly well-contained. 

That totally made up for the fact that his clothes had been obliterated and his date was watching, Bruce told himself. 

Clint, to his credit, was trying incredibly hard not to look. And when that plan completely failed, he made sure to keep his eyes focused only on things chest level and up. He had to admit he liked what he saw. 

Clint cleared his throat. “I think I have some sweats in the car. Maybe a bit big on you but they’ll work.” He gave one quick glance at Mad Dog to make certain he was down for the count before quickly running to grab sweat pants for Bruce. 

Bruce took this opportunity to blush like a beet and giggle slightly hysterically. It was too bad about the other exhibits he’d wanted to see… and the floor, and the damage to the Tuttleman… although Bruce realized that once Tony had heard the story, he’d probably donate enough to the place that they could build a new wing in his honor. 

Bruce marshaled all his powers of control as he heard the door open again. 

Clint returned with a pair of sweats and handed them to Bruce. “Well… no one can say this was a boring date,” he said with a smirk in attempt to lighten the mood. 

Bruce chuckled as he stood and pulled on the offered pants. “Nope, guess not,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. It was me they were after,” he apologized, looking away while Bruce put on the sweats. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s actually kind of refreshing to not be the one everyone wants to capture.” Bruce put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. 

He gave a silent laugh as he turned around at the hand on his shoulder and couldn’t help but stare. The sight of Bruce standing in only Clint’s sweatpants was one he liked maybe a bit to much. 

“Glad to help,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. 

Bruce watched Clint’s expression change, his pupils dilate. The fierce and fiery emotions that had taken root when he’d realized Clint was in danger, that he’d held carefully in check until it was clear Hulk was needed, hadn’t dissipated with Hulk’s departure. They were still very much filling him. He kissed Clint, with a force very much measured, balancing between what he wanted and the need to keep himself in check. 

Clint made a satisfied noise as he put a hand on the small of his back, pulling him closer before letting his hand roam the bare skin, trying hard not to lose control and push Bruce too far. 

There was something in Bruce’s mind that was hardened, set, that said, _this is going to work, because it has to._ He gripped Clint’s upper arms with a carefully measured pressure, enveloped Clint’s lips with his own, felt the hand skimming his back, all with a focused intent and a determination like steel. 

Clint gave a pleased moan at Bruce’s increased enthusiasm, putting the hand that wasn’t set on touching as much exposed skin as possible at the nape of Bruce’s neck, maneuvering it so he could make the kiss deeper. 

Bruce slid his tongue into Clint’s mouth, vigilant, counting down the increasingly breathless moments until the one where he would have to stop. He would not lose himself, he could not lose himself, he had to step back… now. Bruce held Clint’s shoulders just a little tighter as he pulled his mouth away. 

Clint gave a small displeased noise at the loss but took a deep breath taking his hand of Bruce’s neck but leaving the one on his back. “Ok… we should get going. Get back to the tower.” Despite his words, he didn’t step back or remove his hand. 

Bruce smiled, small and amused, and left a hand on Clint’s shoulder as they started towards the parking garage. As they passed the flattened Mad Dog, his expression sobered a bit. “So, any idea what that was about?” 

Clint shook his head. “If it had been only one of them I would say they were out for revenge, but both deciding today was the day? Not likely. Plus the Brothers said it wasn’t personal.” 

Bruce sighed. “Something’s up, then. We’d better get back.” He looked around as something occurred to him. “You see my phone anywhere? I’m guessing it’s a lost cause, but then, it is one of Tony’s.” 

He shook his head. “I’m sure Tony has a new one for you,” Clint said as they reached the car. 

“I’m sure he does,” Bruce chuckled. “We should call the tower now, though. Let the others know what’s happening. They’ll have heard on the news that something’s up.” 

Clint nodded as he called Stark, putting the call on speaker so Bruce could be in the loop as well. 

“Jarv tells me you two ran into some old friends,” Tony said without preamble. “All limbs present and accounted for?” 

“Yeah, we’re intact,” said Bruce. 

“Any idea why I’m suddenly number one on the bad guys’ most wanted list?” Clint asked. 

“Not yet,” Tony said. “I’m giving your SHIELD file another look, though, and you, sir, have a lot of enemies.” He breathed a humorless laugh. “You’re in good company there. But if there is someone organizing this, and it isn’t just what happens when you go out in public outside of missions, which, in my experience, it does, then that person is very good at keeping a low profile. Which, spies. So.” Tony finally took a second breath - sometimes Bruce wondered if the man really was just human - before asking, “Any likely candidates in the spy department?” 

Clint sighed. “The list is pretty long,” he admitted. “Even when I shorten it to the people who could pull this off.” He ran a hand through his hair. 

“Like I said, good company,” Tony said. “Now get back here so we can do the team thing.” He wasn’t quite successful at keeping the worry out of his voice. 

Bruce put a reassuring hand on Clint’s shoulder - it was nice there, they were very good shoulders - and said, “We should be back in New York in a couple of hours.” 

“Right, just in time to hit the worst of the traffic. Let me know if you want a pickup,” Stark said. 

Clint’s mind was racing with names and faces of people he’d managed to piss off; he relaxed slightly when he felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder, his thoughts slowing slightly. “We should be fine, we’ll call if anything else happens.” 

“You do that,” Tony said. “I’ll be here.” And he hung up. 

Bruce squeezed Clint’s shoulder a little tighter. “You OK?” he asked. 

He meant to nod but he shook his head instead. “I’m used to having people come after me. If it had just been Mad Dog or Brothers Grimm it would be fine. Just revenge for locking them up or foiling their plans. But knowing _someone’s_ behind it and not knowing _who…_ I hate it.” 

Bruce wrapped his arms around Clint almost without thinking. 

Clint leaned in to the embrace, letting himself relax into it for a minute before pulling away, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and starting the car. 

Bruce was alert for more danger, angry at the people who’d attacked them and somewhat anxious, but at the same time he felt oddly serene. This was… probably the first time in living memory that he wasn’t struggling against himself. Not just against Hulk, but against what he wanted, against his own nature. Because he’d never wanted to be a monster. Not until today. 

Clint spent the drive home in thought; he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the list of people who hated him was long. The amount of people he’d put in a SHEILD prison, foiled a plan, killed a loved one… it was miles long. Having only people that had the brains and influence to pull… whatever this was… that didn’t even eliminate a fourth of the list. 

The worst part, though, was that this was his problem and now he was dragging his team, his friends, his _**family**_ into it. 

Going after him was one thing, he was used to that. But if any of his fellow Avengers got the slightest scratch on them there would be hell to pay. 

Bruce watched Clint’s face, as he drove. It was forming deeper and deeper into an expression that he knew all too well. It was the face of a man who was blaming himself. 

“We’ll deal with this,” Bruce said. “We’re Avengers. It’s what we do.” 

He nodded. “I know… I just… I wish I knew the plan. I mean, do they want me dead? Captured? What?” He sighed. “I hate being in the dark and I hate the idea of anyone I care about being caught in the middle.” 

Bruce sighed deeply as well. “I definitely know the feeling. And I spent a lot of time being weighed down by it, so I don’t know if there’s anything I can say that would help. But… just know that this is what we’re here for. To back you up.” 

Clint took a breath, remembering him saying something along those lines not too long ago to Bruce. “Okay… whatever the hell this is we’ll kick its ass. Just like everything else that manages to piss us off.” 

Bruce smiled a little at how much everything had changed for him since Calcutta, that he was now anxious to call himself an Avenger, to offer his services as the Hulk. “Exactly,” he said. “Just a day on the job.” 

Clint smiled, looking over at Bruce, the sight of him in his sweatpants still something that put interesting thoughts in his head. He looked back to the road. “Thank you,” he said. 

He was more than ready to be back at the tower and get to the bottom of everything. 

Bruce tried to relax, and succeeded pretty well, considering his phone and book had fallen prey to the battle. He wondered how the movie ended, then thought about the effects of radiation in a vacuum for a while. He watched Clint’s face a bit more, and was pleased to see that the lines of the archer’s expression were no longer quite so hard. 

It was a long drive but it helped Clint calm down and sort his thoughts out. So by the time they were back at the Tower he was calm and had eliminated a few suspects. 

“You look better,” Bruce said as they got out of the car. There was something about Clint that meant his mood was easiest to read when he was in motion. The smooth, confident and energetic way he moved now was definitely a good sign. “Hey, we never did get to eat. We should order something.” 

Clint looked at him in surprise; he’d never considered himself easy to read but apparently for Bruce it was. “Yeah, I eliminated a few possibilities. Around three hundred suspects which believe it or not is actually narrowing it down.” 

He slipped an arm around Bruce’s waist, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places to put his arm. “Sounds good, any ideas as to what you want?” 

Bruce smiled and wrapped his own arm around Clint. “Well, I was going to let you pick the food, since I chose the entertainment.” 

“Well we’re going to need enough for everyone since we’re here, they’d end up eating our stuff anyway.” He considered. “Think two of everything off a Chinese take out menu will be enough?” He smiled; with Steve and Thor there, that question was actually legit. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty hungry,” Bruce said with a small but gleeful smile. “But it should do for a start.” 

Clint laughed as they stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the common area. “You got it, Freckles.” 

“We should order from that place that has brown rice and get a couple of extras of those, actually. Brown rice is the most versatile leftover. You can mix it with anything.” 

“Sounds good,” Clint said as the elevator doors slid open, revealing the team sitting on the couch obviously trying not to look like they had been waiting. It wasn’t successful. “I think someone was worried,” he mock whispered to Bruce. 

Steve looked down sheepishly; Natasha, on the other hand, just glared as if asking what he was going to do about it. 

“Perhaps,” said Thor, “but I have confidence in your skills, my comrades. I was sure you would return safely.” 

“Yeah, that,” Tony said, somewhat unconvincingly, his nose to his tablet as he paced the room. “So, Clinty-pie, got any more ideas about who, other than my science bro, is so desperate to get their hands on you?” 

Bruce, meanwhile, slipped down to his room to get a shirt, and relayed the food order to Jarvis, who confirmed it with his usual crisp, “Yes, Doctor. Right away.” 

“First off, _Clinty-Pie:_ not your best, Stark. Second, I’ve narrowed it down.” 

“How?” Steve asked. 

“Well, whoever’s pulling the strings, for them, it’s personal,” Clint said. “And since it’s only me they’re after, I think it’s safe to assume I didn’t have a partner whenever I did what I did.” 

“Makes sense; there haven’t been any attacks on me,” Natasha said. 

“Or any of you or other SHEILD agents,” Clint said. “So that takes away a few.” 

“How much have you narrowed it down _exactly?_ ” Natasha asked. 

“If I had to guess, low 300’s,” Clint admitted before shrugging. “Best I could do in my head.” 

“Show me,” Tony said, snapping his fingers and pointing. Thousands of mug shots now covered one wall of the room, hovering, waiting to be dragged around and reorganized. “Jarvis, sort with the new parameters.” A few hundred of the photographs disappeared. “Grab your top 300, let me know if any of them are missing.” 

Bruce meandered back into the room around then, anxiousness creeping back into his mood now that he wasn’t sure what he could do to help. The many hundreds of threatening faces on the wall didn’t help much either. 

Clint walked up and looked at all the pictures; a few he threw right away into the category of likely suspects. When he came to one, he hesitated. “What’s Buck doing up here?” 

“Trick Shot attacked you,” Natasha said. “A battle to the death.” 

“And he threw it. The guy wanted to go out with a bang instead of letting his cancer kill him,” Clint defended his old mentor. “Besides, he’s in the hospital, I’m paying for his treatment personally.” 

“He went into remission,” Steve said quietly, almost apologetically. “Off the grid since.” 

“And the two of you have one hell of a history,” Natasha added. 

“Which we buried with that last fight,” Clint insisted. 

“He’s the best lead we have,” Steve admitted. 

Clint shook his head. “He isn’t behind this,” he said stubbornly as he moved on to the other faces on the screen. 

Thor looked at the photograph curiously, studying the accompanying text. “This is a man who was a close friend? You trained together in your youth?” He looked to Clint briefly for confirmation. “I believe you are right. It is not him. When one such as that betrays you, they wish to be known. They wish to see the pain their betrayal causes.” Thor shook his head grimly. “He would not hide behind mercenaries.” 

Clint gave the God a sympathetic and appreciative pat on his arm ”Exactly,” he said putting Buck’s picture in the no section before moving on to others. Eliminating some because it wasn’t their style and putting ones with the biggest grudge against him in the likely suspects. 

He stepped back finally. “Just because I ruled them out doesn’t mean they aren’t a puppet, but… those guys are my best guess for puppet masters,” he said, going to stand beside Bruce. 

“Shit, that really is a lot,” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Clint’s shoulders again. “I’d kind of been hoping you were exaggerating.” 

Tony took the “most likely” pile and spread it out in a new area. “OK, who here is known to associate with the three pawns who showed up and disrespected the sacred ground of us science worshippers?” He shot Bruce a glance. “By the way, I’m gonna grace that place with some serious donations later. Any earmark requests, Oh Deciduous One?” 

Bruce chuckled. “Direct something to the fourth floor math exhibit,” he said. 

Clint’s arm automatically slid around his waist, and he sighed. “Last I heard Baxter was with Mutant Force, and the Brothers don’t really _work_ with anyone.” He sighed. “But any of them could have met without me or anyone else knowing.” 

Tony’s whole face sort of scrunched to one side as he took in that information. Then his head jerked in a nod. “All right. Jarv, give me known resources and most recent sightings on all of these. And if the rest of you have any ideas, give. Or am I the only one here with a brain?” He moved the requested files to his tablet with a flick, and began reading. 

“I can go and sniff around, find out if anyone knows about mercanaries being hired; it’s possible no one’s ever met the person behind all this,” Natasha said. 

“I’m kind of flattered someone would go through the trouble to put a hit on me,” Clint said with a smirk in attempt to lighten the mood, something that apparently didn’t work if the glares he was receiving from everyone were any indication. 

Bruce looked balefully at Clint. A sickening mixture of irritation, fear and sympathy twisted inside him. He really wanted all this to be over, but there was no name, no face of someone he could hunt down and crush into the ground to make it stop. 

If there was, he knew he’d do it. And Bruce pretty much hated himself for that, but it didn’t make it any less true. 

“Okay, humor not an acceptable coping mechanism…. Noted,” Clint muttered before letting out a sigh and running his hand through his hair. “There is an easier way to get to the bottom of this.” 

“No,” Natasha said flatly. 

“They’re after me, so let them try. Eventually whoever is behind this will run out of bad guys and come after me themselves.” 

“You want to be bait?” Steve asked indecorously. 

Clint shrugged. “Why not?” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes. He felt his fingers tightening around Clint’s shoulder without his permission. He tore his hand away and fled, mind racing. His eyes fell first on the stairwell, but as much as he needed distance to collect himself, he also needed to know where Clint was. The kitchen, then. He’d hear if something happened. 

He picked up an orange, sat down, and began, very determinedly, to peel it in a spiral formation which would yield one unbroken shape. 

Clint fought the urge to go after Bruce but knew that it wouldn’t help anything. “Listen, I know none of you like the idea. Hell, I’m not to fond of it either. But we don’t even know what the objective is. Kill me? Capture me? Besides, I’ll have you guys to back me up.” He looked at the team. “Can any of you honestly tell me this isn’t the best option?” 

Natasha simply glared before exiting the room herself, which he took as a reluctant admission that he was right. 

He turned to the others. “Well?” 

Thor nodded grudgingly. “I trust your judgement. In face-to-face battle I know what I am about, but in this, the play of one mind against another to gain knowledge, I defer to you and the Lady Natasha.” 

Tony looked up from his tablet, twitches seizing the muscles of his face, betraying the emotions he would deny. His eyes flicked in the direction of the kitchen before he answered. And then, “I’ve got some new ideas for flexible body armor. Feel like being a guinea pig too?” was all he said, with a somewhat false smile. 

Clint gave a hesitant smirk. “Sure, why not,” he said. 

Steve stood up. “If this is how you want to play it, fine, but we’re not letting you out of our sights for even a minute. We’ll be all around you, even if you can’t see us.” 

“I appreciate it,” he said sincerely. He looked to the kitchen. “Give me a minute.” 

He went to the entrance of the kitchen, watching Bruce quietly for a minute before finally speaking. “I’ll be fine,” he assured. 

“You wanted me to care about you. Congratulations. I do.” Bruce’s tone was flat and even, but somehow sounded perilously close to breaking anyway. “Not caring was working for me.” 

Clint frowned, sitting next to him. “I can’t sit by and do nothing,” he confessed. “What if next time, to get to me, they decide to use one of you? Or they go after an innocent bystander to draw me out. If I’m already out in the open…. This is the safest option I can think of. Believe me, if there was another option I’d take it. In a heartbeat.” 

“I know. I _know._ I know.” Bruce continued meticulously peeling his orange. “It makes sense. Perfect, logical sense.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you like it,” Clint said, understanding. “I wouldn’t either if it was you on the line,” he admitted softly, hesitantly putting his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce kept his eyes on the orange, removing the last of the peel and laying it out in an S shape. “There’s a reason that I don’t do this. That I don’t ever do this.” 

Clint frowned, removing his hand. “Doc, please tell me you’re not saying what it _sounds_ like you’re saying.” 

Bruce closed his eyes briefly before beginning to segment the orange, slowly and neatly. “I don’t know. I guess what I’m saying is, this is a situation that I’m really not equipped to deal with.” 

Clint nodded, a determined look on his face. “Then we’ll deal with it _together._ You don’t have to deal with everything on your own, Bruce.” 

Bruce finally let himself lift his eyes, looking at Clint and clearly in pain. “I don’t know how. I don’t know any other way to live.” 

“Then let me help you,” Clint said, putting his hand on Bruce’s, and sighed. ”Listen, we can come up with another plan.” 

“No, I….” Bruce sighed. “I know it’s a good plan. I just don’t think I can handle thinking about it any more right now.” He squeezed Clint’s hand. “You think the food’s here yet?” 

“No thinking. Got it, I’m good at that,” he said with a small smile, squeezing his hand back. “If not, it should be soon.” 

Bruce just kind of slumped forward until his forehead was resting against their clasped hands where they sat on the table. He murmured something, probably too quietly for Clint to hear. 

Clint used his other hand to rub softly on Bruce’s back. “What was that, Freckles?” 

Bruce turned his head to the side slightly. “Thank you for putting up with me,” he said. “Also, my hands smell like oranges.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for _that_. Besides, you put up with me. And I know a few people who would say you drew the short stick here.” He smirked before bending down and smelling said hand, chuckling lightly. “Smells good though.” 

Bruce sat up again, still squeezing Clint’s hand. He shook his head a little. “Those people would be wrong.” He took a deep breath. “All right, let’s go see if there’s food yet.” 

Clint gave a small smile and stood up, still holding Bruce’s hand, and went into the common area to see the team devouring the Chinese food “I guess the food’s here,” he said with a smirk. “We just weren’t invited.” 

Bruce huffed with laughter. “That’s why it’s so important to order _enough,_ ” he said, settling on one of the couches. He put down the orange sections he’d grabbed with his left hand, then looked between the food and his still occupied right hand. “I wonder how difficult it would be for me to use chopsticks left-handed.” 

“I can solve this dilemma,” Clint said, letting his hand go and sitting on the other side of him and grabbing his left hand. “There’s always the option of letting go, but thats just too simple,” Clint said with a smirk. 

“Have I mentioned how disgusting you two are?” Natasha asked. 

“Jealous?” 

She scoffed. “Hardly.” She gave him a small smile and Clint knew that everything was okay with them. 

Bruce, once his hands were properly oriented, grabbed the nearest food and began to eat efficiently. Whatever it was had tofu and bell peppers, which kind of explained why no one else had grabbed it, but Bruce liked it. 

Tony was eating what looked like beef stir fry, poking at his tablet and muttering to himself. Thor paused at the end of his carton of fried rice to greet the two latecomers. “I have yet to congratulate the two of you on your partnership,” he said. “I would wish you well in this endeavor.” 

Bruce put down his chopsticks long enough to offer a smile and a quiet “Thanks.” 

Clint smiled as he picked up a carton of moo goo gai pan. “Thanks, buddy.” 

“It is nice to see you both happy,” Steve said with a small smile. 

Bruce was honestly surprised that not one person had brought up the Other Guy. Tony was crazier than Clint, of course, but the other three? They had to see the potential for danger. 

But that probably fell under the heading of _things Bruce should not be thinking about right now if he wants to preserve his calm,_ so he let it go, enjoying the acceptance, and even briefly letting go of Clint’s hand in order to arrange brown rice, orange chicken and some orange sections into one container. 

Clint smiled at the look on Bruce’s face as he searched the table for some beef and broccoli. 

At one point, Tony wandered off, still muttering to himself (or Jarvis, it was sometimes hard to tell), leaving the rest still working through the mountains of food. About the time Thor was on his seventh carton, Bruce found himself drifting a little, tiredly blinking at his noodles. 

Clint wrapped an arm around Bruce. “Been a long day, Freckles, think it’s time for some shut eye.” 

Bruce made a protesting noise as he rubbed at his eyes. Then he blinked for a moment longer. “Today…yeah. That was a lot of stuff for one day.” 

“Agreed,” Clint said with a smile, standing up. “Come on, Doc, let’s get you to bed.” 

Bruce stood like a zombie rising from a grave, slow and incoherent and with a tiny bit of moaning. It was mostly show, though, and once he was up, he smiled readily enough. “Good night, guys,” he said to the Avengers still sitting. Thor smiled and waved as he continued to eat. 

“Goodnight you two,” Steve said with a smile before going back to shoveling food in his mouth. 

Clint waved to everyone before going into the elevator with Bruce and pressing the other man’s floor number. 

Bruce was trying not to think about a lot of things, but he was too tired to think of other things to think of, so instead he just looked at Clint. Part of his brain was saying _enjoy this while you can, because something always goes wr_ \- No. That was turning out to be one of the unpleasant ones. 

Bruce thought the chance was good that he would have nightmares tonight. 

So he looked at Clint, his eyes and the corners of his mouth, and his hands, those were always good. He drank it in. 

Clint smiled fondly at the sleepy look on Bruce’s face as the doors slid open and he walked toward Bruce’s room. “Sorry today didn’t go as planned.” 

Bruce waved his hand dismissively and somewhat vaguely. “Not your fault. Not at all.” 

They stopped on front of Bruce’s door. “Home sweet home, Doc,” he said, leaning down to give Bruce a slow lazy kiss, pulling away reluctantly. “Sleep well, Freckles.” 

Bruce smiled. “You, too,” he said, and squeezed Clint’s hand one last time in farewell, before retreating through his door. 


	4. Chapter 4

Clint was used to sleepless nights. Used to nights filled with faces of the people he couldn’t save or the ones he had killed. Nights where he remembered Jacques’s fists, or the day he received Barney’s letter. 

He was used to them. Sometimes he was able to push it aside and get the sleep he needed. Then there were times like today when he couldn’t. 

On those days he got as much sleep as he could (three and a half hours in today’s case) and relied on his training to continue to keep alert, reminding himself that this was by no means the least amount of sleep he’d had; he’d gone days without. 

As far as he could tell he had been the first person up and about when he had finally given up on any more sleep about two hours ago. 

Since then he had been going through the names, trying to eliminate some with the help of Jarvis. “Okay, Jarvis, here’s someone who _really_ hates me, any information on Crossfire’s location or what he’s been up to?” 

“Nothing concrete, Agent Barton,” the AI responded. “He is, however, strongly suspected to have been involved in an incident four months ago in the D. C. area, which made use of sonic weapons.” 

\- 

With the mood Bruce was in, he probably wouldn’t have even stepped out of his room today, except… there were plans. Plans the Avengers would be needed for. Plans that put Clint in danger. 

So Bruce, with a book of Sudoku clutched in one hand, and a mind tense with awareness, ventured out for tea and breakfast. He could hear Jarvis and Clint conversing quietly in the other room, and suddenly breakfast didn’t seem so important. He poured his tea and went to find Clint. 

\- 

“Yeah, sounds like him,” Clint said. “Okay, he’s still in the running.” He hesitated. “Jarvis, do me a favor, I know he’s not on the list… but make sure Egghead is still in the ground. If I’ve learned anything it’s that you can never be sure that what you kill stays dead.” He scowled at the thought of the reason his brother was dead. “I know he probably is but just… check, okay?” 

He sighed, putting his head in his hands; in the past two hours he and Jarvis had ruled out a little over 100 of the previous 300, but it still somehow felt as if no progress had actually been made. 

“There is no new intelligence on the criminal known as Egghead,” Jarvis confirmed. 

Bruce walked in, holding his tea and his book, and there was so much to read in the way Clint sat, his words to Jarvis and the way they were said. “Hey, you need a break, I think,” he said. 

Clint let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. He turned at Bruce’s voice, his frown instantly transforming into a smile. “Hey Doc, you sleep alright?” 

“All right, not great,” he said, sitting down and putting his tea on a nearby table. “How about you?” Bruce frowned slightly in concern as he asked. 

Clint debated to give the true answer or the one that wouldn’t make Bruce worry. He chose something in between. 

He shrugged. “Not the best sleep I’ve ever had, not the worst either.” 

“Uh huh.” Bruce nodded. “That doesn’t really tell me much.” He put out a hand, first squeezing Clint’s shoulder, then inching over until his fingers were softly scritching at Clint’s neck. 

Clint chuckled. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He gave a moan that was mixture of pleased and exhausted at Bruce’s touch. “Maybe it is time for a break,” he admitted. “Hey Jarvis, take the remaining 185 names and make two lists for me. One ordering them by how recently I’ve managed to piss them off, most recent on top. The second ordering them on just how _badly_ I’ve pissed them off.” He turned to Bruce. “Then I can compare, see if any of the names show up on top both times.” He shrugged; he didn’t know if it would work but any idea was worth a shot at this point. 

“It’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “Worth a look. Jarvis, make a third list. Assign numerical values to those qualities at your discretion and rank them by sum.” His fingers continued to move across the skin of Clint’s neck and up into his hair. “But after this, we should do something distracting.” 

Clint gave another pleased noise. “I dunno, Freckles, what you’re doing now is plenty distracting in my opinion.” He put his head down on his arms, letting himself relax and enjoy the feeling of Bruce’s hands in his hair. 

Bruce chuckled. “All right,” he said. “We can do this for a while, then.” 

He chuckled softly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much, Doc.” 

Bruce smiled warmly at how much more relaxed Clint sounded. He kept one hand moving through Clint’s hair as he picked up his tea cup with the other. He was feeling a lot better, as well. Helping people could do that, he knew. But when it was Clint, it seemed it was even more effective. 

Clint gave a content sigh. “You keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep,” he warned. 

“Would that be a bad thing?” 

“Last night I would have welcomed it,” he admitted. “But today there’s so much - _too_ much - to do to fall asleep.” 

Bruce sighed, and let his fingers drift to a halt. “I’ll be very glad when this is over,” he said. 

Clint gave a disappointed groan even though he had asked for Bruce to stop. “You and me both, Freckles.” 

Bruce squeezed his shoulder again and then withdrew his hand, focusing on his tea. “I’m going to go make some breakfast in a minute. Want anything in particular?” 

“Food sounds good,” he said, lifting his head to throw a smirk Bruce’s way. “I’m ridiculously easy when it comes to food.” 

“All right, I’ll just make what I want,” Bruce said, chuckling. He finished his tea, then got up, ruffling Clint’s hair one last time before he went into the kitchen. 

Clint sighed before standing. “Jarvis, tell me when the lists are done. If Bruce asks, I’m at the archery range and I’ll be back soon.” 

Bruce really did feel better when he was doing something, anything helpful, really, so when he hadn’t been doctoring, on the run, he’d done whatever needed doing, factory work, handyman, cooking - he’d done a season as a migrant harvester, once, and if he wasn’t the Hulk, he would still have a crick in his back. He’d done a lot of good as a doctor among those people, he thought. 

So now he threw himself into this task the way Tony threw himself into the construction of the suits. He started with bacon, then mushrooms and onions, then he made eggs at the same time as toast. 

He carried the plates into the - apparently now empty - common room, and frowned. “Jarvis, where’d Clint go?” 

“He has asked me to inform you that he is at the archery range and will return shortly. Also, the lists you requested are complete.” The AI displayed them on the usually black glass table. “The values I assigned for time are a simple reverse logarithmic function. The ones for strength of vendetta required considerably more…creativity.” 

If there was one thing Clint hated more than anything, it was not being in control. 

It’s why he hated Jacques, why what Loki had done had been worse than any torture method he’d experienced. 

This was why he was trying so hard to keep control in this situation, why he needed to make the plan and eliminate the options. The idea that once again he didn’t have control made his gut twist. 

Luckily there had always been one way to make him feel in control and that’s when he had a bow in his hand. 

He controlled the arrow, when it flew, how fast, how forceful, where it went. It was under his control. 

And with everything going on that was what he needed more than anything. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there firing arrows at various targets - it could have been a minute or an hour. All he knew for sure was when he was done he felt stable, awake and _controlled._

When he stepped back into the common area he was noticably more relaxed. “Hey, Freckles.” 

Bruce looked up from his breakfast and his Sudoku and smiled at the new energy that Clint seemed to have. “Hey. Ready for some serious breakfast?” 

He nodded. “Looks great,” he said with a smile as he sat down next to him and looked at the table and sighed. “Break’s over I guess, huh?” he said with a small smile. 

Bruce frowned at the offending lists. “I guess it is. Clint, don’t run yourself ragged over this, okay? We’re going to figure it out.” 

He nodded. “I know we will, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier,” he shrugged. “I say we finish our breakfast and then go over these lists with the whole team.” 

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Bruce settled to eating his food, but there was still enough tension in him that he opted to go back to the Sudoku puzzle book as well. 

Clint took a bite of his food and gave a noise of approval before continuing to eat. 

Around the time he was finishing up Natasha came in and rolled her eyes before going into the kitchen. 

“Jealous!” Clint yelled after her. 

“Hardly,” came her reply from the kitchen. 

Clint chuckled a bit as he finished up his breakfast. 

Thor came in and made himself an enormous strawberry milkshake, a large amount of ham, and four pieces of whole wheat toast. No one had got around to explaining to him the slight differences between smoothies and milkshakes, but, Bruce supposed, as Thor joined them at the table with his haul, if you were Thor it didn’t really matter. 

“Good morning, my friends! Was your sleep satisfactory?” he said. 

Clint smiled. “Yeah buddy, it was alright. Yourself?” 

Natasha walked out of the kitchen, a glass of orange juice in hand. “Who wants to go drag Stark out of the lab?” 

Bruce chuckled. “I’d volunteer, but I think you might end up losing me instead of finding him. I saw how he was last night. Inescapable vortex city.” He shook his head. “Where’s Steve?” 

“Finishing his morning workout,” Natasha said. “He said he was almost done when I left from mine.” 

Bruce nodded. “Jarvis, how deep in is Tony, do you think? Can you get him up here or do we need to send serious muscle?” 

“The project is entering fabrication now,” the AI answered. “Inasmuch as Mr. Stark can be predicted, I estimate his arrival in the common area in seven minutes.” 

Clint smirked. “Well, that saves us a headache,” he said, standing and taking his plate to the kitchen. 

“What about a headache?” Steve asked as he entered the room. 

“Stark is leaving the lab willingly,” Natasha informed the super soldier. 

“For a given definition of the term,” Jarvis corrected. “It did require turning off his music.” 

“Tony does have a peculiar affinity for those sounds,” Thor mused between bites of toast. “I do not dislike them, but often they sound more like a storm than a song.” 

Bruce chuckled to himself as he finished his own breakfast. 

Clint chuckled as he came out of the kitchen. “I actually like his music. Classic rock is classic for a reason.” He sat back down next to Bruce, putting an arm around him automatically. 

Bruce smiled. “It can be good, when it’s not three times as loud as it needs to be.” 

Tony came in then, wearing the same clothes he’d been in yesterday and just generally looking annoyed. “Are you talking about my music? It was you who told Jarvis to steal my music, wasn’t it. Traitor. Where is there coffee.” 

Clint pointed to the kitchen. “Full pot and fresh,” he said with a small smirk. 

“Thank God,” Tony said, making a beeline for it. “All of them. Any of them. Is there a god of coffee?” 

“It is a magnificent beverage,” Thor said thoughtfully. “I would not be averse, if there were a need.” 

Bruce bit his lip, to stifle laughter. 

Clint didn’t bother to stifle his laughter, or rather found that he couldn’t. 

Steve was standing, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. 

Natasha rolled her eyes but she had the smallest of smiles. 

Thor grinned, showing that the laughter had been his intention. He finished his milkshake and stood to take his dishes to the kitchen, offering to take Bruce’s plate as well. Bruce gave an acknowledging nod. 

Tony came out of the kitchen as Thor was going in, looking much more present now that he had a cup of coffee in his hand. “So,” he said to the room. “We got a plan?” 

“Same plan as last night,” Clint said, squeezing Bruce’s hand for reassurance, both Bruce’s and his own. “I play bait, bad guys take it, we kick ass. Good news, though, is me and Jarvis narrowed the suspect list down to 185.” 

Bruce gripped Clint’s hand with careful pressure, breathing deep and slow. He tried to concentrate on the data without letting the meaning behind it touch him. “This is the new shortened list,” he said, gesturing to the text that lit up the table. “Jarvis ordered it three different ways.” 

Tony’s fingers flitted over the surface, moving the lists, scrolling through them and looking up the list parameters. When he got to the third list, he breathed a little laugh and looked at Bruce. “You have a sneaky way of asking Jarvis to give his opinion.” 

Clint smiled at Bruce before turning back to Tony. “So how’s that armor coming?” he asked Tony. He was ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 

“In fabrication,” Tony immediately replied. “Jarvis, what’s the ETA on that?” 

“Construction should be complete in three point two hours,” Jarvis said. 

Clint sighed; he supposed it had been to much to hope they could go right away. “Okay, so we go when the armor is ready, I want every advantage I can get…. What can we do for three hours?” 

“Well, you wanted to go over these with everybody, right?” Bruce said, gesturing to the lists. “Also, how are we going to set this up so that it’s not a completely obvious trap?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just… restless.” He gave a small smile to Bruce. 

“And I’ve been thinking about locations and vantage points the rest of us can be positioned at,” Steve offered, stepping forward. “And I’m sure I’m not the only one.” He looked at Natasha who simply nodded. 

Bruce took Clint’s hand in both of his and began to rub at the pressure point between the thumb and the palm. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me something about the top three candidates on that third list.” 

He sighed. “Okay, lets see who we have here,” he said, looking at the list. “Okay, William Cross AKA Crossfire, before I joined SHEILD, after I was a bow for hire. I was the head of security for Cross Technological Enterprises, a company run by Crossfire’s cousin. Anyway apparently he set up his operation there, an operation that consisted of mind controlling people to take other people out.” A dark look crossed his face. “Apparently I’d grown a bit of a reputation, so SHIELD sent an operative to do an evaluation on me, not that I knew that’s what Barbra was at the time. Her and I stumbled onto Crossfire, he sent some goons after us. When that didn’t work he thought we’d make good test subjects and attempted to control us so we’d kill each other. Long story short, I shoved a sonic arrow in my ear so he couldn’t. Losing my hearing was worth not losing control of my own mind.” He gripped Bruce’s hand tighter. “I got picked up by SHIELD and we haven’t been on good terms since.” He sighed. “So yeah, I’d say he’s a pretty likely suspect.” He ran a hand through his hair, standing up. “Give me a minute, guys,” he said, heading to the kitchen. 

A terrible grinding anger was building in Bruce’s chest, directed at anyone who would hurt Clint the way this obviously did. Physical injuries he could shrug off as if they were nothing, but his mind - suddenly a memory came back to Bruce vividly, of smashing Loki into the concrete floor of the tower over and over and over. 

He usually blocked out memories from the Hulk, especially very violent ones like that. But now he wanted to remember that - crushing Loki. 

Bruce dragged himself back to the present, to the questions at hand. He walked toward the kitchen and stood in the doorway, unsure if he was needed or wanted, or if he was good enough, monster that he was. But for the moment, he didn’t care. 

Clint turned and gave a weak smile. “Hey Doc, sorry about that. I,” he gave a small laugh, “I actually don’t have anything I need in here, just had to move.” He gave a sheepish smile and a shrug. 

“Kinda figured that,” said Bruce. “I just came to see if there was anything I could do.” His hands worked against each other as he stood, and in his head he went over the stages of cell division to keep from being overwhelmed. 

He shook his head. “I’m fine, I’m used to people trying to kill me.” He gave a crooked grin. “Just restless is all.” 

“Right.” Bruce’s eyebrows drew together, and the corners of his mouth sort of vacillated up and down. “Well, let me know if you do. Need anything. At all.” 

“There is one thing,” he said, stepping forward and holding his hand. “Just… stay close? ." 

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of Clint’s hand in his. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I could do that.” 

“I just… I never really talk about my past… I sort of hate doing it,” he admitted with a small chuckle, squeezing Bruce’s hand tighter. “But it’s easier with you.” 

Bruce let out a breath. “I’m glad,” he said. The corrosive mess of anger was beginning to recede as other things took its place. Clint’s hand felt like a lifeline, and he wasn’t sure who was saving who. 

“You two had better not be making out in there!” Tony’s voice intruded into the kitchen. “Work to do! Plans to make! You want to make out, you can do it in here.” 

“Ignore him,” Natasha called out. ”No one but him wants to see that.” 

Clint chuckled, leaning forward, giving Bruce a small peck. “We should probably get back, I wouldn’t put it past Tony to bring the meeting in here.” 

Bruce smiled, and rubbed his thumb across the back of Clint’s hand in a comforting motion. “If you’re ready,” he said. 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, just don’t let go.” He smiled slightly before heading back into the common area. “So, where were we?” 

Bruce didn’t let go of Clint’s hand and he didn’t intend to any time soon. He rolled his eyes at Tony as they passed, but Tony only grinned wider. 

Thor looked at the lists, frowning. “The number and ferocity of your enemies is indeed formidable. I commend you for surviving thus far. We cannot prepare ourselves for all of them, but learning more about the most likely of them may prove the difference between victory and defeat. The man you spoke of, he weaves a song to steal the minds of his enemies?” 

Clint nodded. “That’s his main schtick, yeah. He usually goes with sending goons first, so this whole thing is definitely his style.” 

Tony scrolled through some text he had brought up on the guy. “How much do you know about the way his tech works?” 

“Homestly not too much, least not on the specifics. I’m not exactly a tech expert.” Clint shrugged. “Just the basics.” 

Tony made a displeased noise and turned away from the group slightly, the beginnings of a design on his ever-present tablet. 

Bruce rubbed his thumb against Clint’s hand again. “Jarvis, what percentage of the value assigned Crossfire does the next person on the list have?” 

“Eighty-two percent, Doctor.” 

“And the average of the others, relative to the same value?” 

“Sixty-four percent.” 

Tony snorted. “Brucey, if you’re going to talk to J in code, you might as well talk to him in _code_.” Tony turned to Clint. “Jarvis is pretty sure it’s him.” 

“I would not put it that way, sir, but yes. It does seem likely.” 

“Okay, so we have who pretty much figured out, the what he wants with me not definite but I’m assuming a slow and painful death until informed otherwise.” 

He looked to Steve and Natasha. “And I assume you guys have the strategy covered.” 

Steve nodded. “We’re working on it.” 

“I don’t like this,” Bruce said, hand tightening on Clint’s. “It’s in the nature of the Hulk to be able to recover from physical damage. But I don’t know the nature of this, I don’t know what mechanism it uses to influence the brain, and if he manages to turn Hulk….” Bruce stopped, horrified. 

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed this. “Is there any way to find out?” Clint asked the room in general. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but maybe it’s best you stay out of the fight until we know for sure,” Steve said apologetically. 

Bruce screwed his eyes shut, focusing on breathing, then on thinking out the problem. “Do the people he controls recover, or do they stay under his influence?” he asked, voice tense and efficient. 

Clint thought. “As far as I know, they all recover eventually. Some take longer weather because of the person, or upgrades he’s made - I couldn’t tell you.” 

Bruce sighed. “That doesn’t do much good. If there’s recovery time, there’s really no way to know if it’s physical damage or some more subtle change.” He squeezed Clint’s hand again. “Steve’s right. Until we know more, I should probably sit this one out.” 

Clint clutched Bruce’s hand; if the idea of not having Bruce out there with him made him upset, it had to be double for Bruce. 

He looked at Tony. “All right, fine, is there any way we can know for sure?” 

“No offense, but I don’t think that’s our highest priority at the moment,” Natasha interjected. 

“Not without a lot more information or a sample of the tech,” Tony said, frowning. “I’m working on noise cancellation gear, though. However it works, this should stop it.” 

“But that’s not a guarantee,” Bruce said. “There are so many ways that could fail in the middle of a fight, and I won’t take that risk.” His teeth clenched involuntarily. He very carefully relaxed, and tried to get his mind to engage on something more innocuous. 

Meanwhile, Thor turned to Natasha. “Hulk is the strongest of us. If we cannot rely on him in battle, I think that important. However, I said I would defer to you in this case. Where, then, should we turn our energies?” 

“Can I point out that we’re probably not finished when it comes to goons? And the Brothers and Mad Dog didn’t have any of his tech, so until he comes out for himself, we have time to figure things out,” Clint said. 

“Exactly,” Natasha said. “We have enemies besides Cross coming after Clint. We should try to figure out how many. Did he go and hire them individually? Is a bounty on his head? A set number or a free for all. What exactly can we expect when we send Clint out there?” 

“How do you plan to figure that out?” Steve asked. 

“I have about three hours or so to go and see what I can find out. I know where these types gather and I know how to make myself invisible. Meanwhile the rest of you should be preparing; Tony and Bruce should be in the labs coming up with any way to give us an edge and you three should be coming up with a battle strategy.” 

Bruce gave Clint’s hand a squeeze. “I’m not spending any more time away from Clint than I have to.” 

“Jeez, what are you, three?” Tony squinted at them. Then he sighed. “Okay, fine, shared custody, whatever. Family field trip! Everybody down to the lab.” 

“Come on, Stark, we’re at least five,” Clint said with a smirk. “You alright on your own?” he asked Tasha. 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t insult me, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She left the room. 

“Thor and I will prepare best we can,” Steve said as he headed to the gym. 

Clint stood, squeezing Bruce’s hand slightly. “Okay, to the lab then.” 

Bruce, full of grim determination, followed Tony down to the lab. There _was_ something he could do, besides fight. There were two things he could do, and he was going to focus on them because otherwise he would not get through this. 

He sat in his usual spot but with an arm wrapped around Clint’s waist, asking questions, answering them, helping Tony with the shielding on the new earpieces so that they would be protected against the widest range of both electromagnetic and sonic waves, while still functioning to let the team communicate with each other. He suggested subvocal microphones, to keep the circuit completely isolated from sonic sources. 

“Have you ever used subvocal mics before?” he asked Clint. “They’re one of those spy tech things I’ve always wanted to try. I hear it’s like they almost read words right out of your mind.” 

Clint didn’t exactly feel useful down in the lab; he was out of his element and couldn’t understand much of what was being said, but he understood enough to get the general idea of what the two geniuses were saying. 

He knew he’d be more useful elsewhere but couldn’t bring himself to leave Bruce. So he offered himself up as an ultimate test guinea pig if needed. 

“Tasha has,” he answered Bruce with a smile. “The newest tech I get in my bow and the arrows; besides, the way SHEILD saw it, with a bit of tweaking I had built in coms.” He tapped his ears with a smirk. “According to Nat, though, they were useful as hell.” 

“All right,” Tony said, grinning and approaching them with wires, “who wants to be the first to have their mic calibrated?” 

“That was fast. You have this tech integrated into the suit already, don’t you?” Bruce asked. 

“Kinda. The voice recognition and synthesis are already part of Jarvis’s function, and what’s a few more electrodes between friends?” Tony held out said electrodes in an offering gesture. “So, Doctor Banner. Ready to get hooked up?” 

Bruce eyed the sensors somewhat dubiously. “I’ve always been curious, but also a little nervous about what it will pick up. I’ve usually got several levels of internal monologue going. How much does it… pick up? I mean, do the mics catch words that you just imagine saying? That just go through your head?” 

Tony shrugged. “You can tell when words are going through my head because they come out of my mouth.” 

Bruce chuckled. “Granted.” 

Clint chuckled. “I’ll be the guinea pig if you guys want; just... tell me how to work the things.” 

“Basically I’ll just stick these to your neck, then you talk a lot, then the computer can figure out what sounds go with what electrical signals.” Tony waved the contacts in his direction now. “I’m fabricating some patches that will be easier to apply, but for now, we can use these to fine-tune the programming for your physiology.” 

Bruce took the electrodes from Tony’s ever-moving hands. “Here, let me,” he said. 

Clint definitely felt better with Bruce taking hold of them. “Talk a lot… I can definitely do that,” he said with a smirk. 

Bruce placed the electrodes gently at four points under Clint’s chin, then, since he was so close anyway, gave the archer a quick kiss. “All right, I think we’re set,” he said. Tony was already turned away, tapping at one of his screens. 

“Be honest, Doc, do these electrodes make me look fat?” he asked Bruce, his face as serious as he could manage. 

Bruce laughed. “No, they’re actually very slimming,” he said. 

He laughed. “That’s a relief; girl’s gotta look her best, after all.” He gave a wink and a smirk. 

Bruce smiled. He tried to think of a subject that would distract them for a while. “Hey, did you get a chance to start reading Stranger in a Strange Land?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I made a decent dent in it before all this happened…. It’s definitely different,” he said with a smirk. “Not in a bad way, though, just… a different way.” 

“Yeah, and it’s especially impressive when you realize it was mostly written in the fifties,” Bruce replied. “Things were done a certain way then. Have you gotten to the part where Mike kisses four women in the space of twenty minutes?” 

Tony blinked, looking up from his readouts. “Wow. Big Green has you reading Heinlein? This man is a force of nature no matter what form he’s in. Prepare to be educated.” 

Clint smiled. “I know he is, and yeah, I’m not too far past that point, actually, so no spoilers.” 

“I always forget how long that book actually is,” Bruce said. “The ideas in it are so simple, but so big.” 

“All right, I should really get electrodes on you, too,” Tony said to Bruce. “I can get basic calibration data for Widow from her file, if she’s used these before. But I’m also going to need Fabios One and Two down here to get data on them.” 

“I’m not really going to be out there with you guys,” Bruce said, eyeing a second set of electrodes. Then he sighed. “But I guess it couldn’t hurt.” 

Clint held Bruce’s hand, rubbing slightly. “The goons probably won’t have the tech,” he reminded. “And we have to get through them to get to Cross.” 

“Yeah, but it’s going to be Hulk, not me…. I guess we can’t get calibration for him ahead of time, though, so I’ll have to do.” Bruce sighed. “Jarvis, is there enough similarity in our voiceprints that this is actually going to be useful?” 

“I believe so, Doctor. Though the physiology is substantially altered, the muscle memory, and therefore electrical impulses, should be quite similar.” 

“Good point,” Bruce said, and began to place the electrodes on his own throat. 

“Aw, look, Doc, electrodes look slimming on you too. I think we’re on to something here; we could be trendsetters,” Clint said with a smirk. He was getting pretty good at getting Bruce to smile - a skill he used as much as he could. 

Bruce laughed. Then he felt very self-conscious. 

“I’m getting data but I can’t calibrate this unless you actually _talk_ ,” Tony said at him. 

“Sorry, I’m just thinking,” Bruce said. 

“Well, it’s official. Jarvis can hear you think,” said Tony, sounding gleeful. 

Bruce turned red. 

Clint laughed slightly. “Come on, Freckles, forget the ever fashionable bits of technology and just have a conversation with me.” 

Bruce closed his eyes momentarily, trying not to think about Tony, Jarvis, or the electrodes. “So, uh,” he said, “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” 

“Well, all ice cream is good ice cream but I’m partial to cookie dough and you already told me yours.” He smirked. “Okay, what’s your favorite… song?” 

“That is a hard question…. I don’t listen to a ton of music but when I do, I like a lot of different kinds. Maybe Brand New Colony by The Postal Service? Or maybe something Beatles. There are too many good ones to choose between.” 

He smiled. “I get that; my favorite changes depending on what mood I’m in.” 

“I don’t get to indulge my moods very much, so for me, it’s more about interesting rhythms and patterns. A lot of the music that other people find calming, I can’t really listen to. It’s a little counter-intuitive, I guess.” Bruce looked at Clint curiously. “So what songs do you like when you’re happy?” 

“Well, if I’m already happy I try to stay that way, get pumped up. So loud music, with a good beat. If I had to choose just one… Paradise City.” 

Bruce smiled. “Not bad. Just a bit repetitive. And shouty.” His smile turned apologetic. “Actually not one of my favorites at all, but I’ve gotten used to the music Tony plays.” 

He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not everyone’s style; I’ll listen to almost anything. That kind is just best to keep me pumped.” 

“Yeah, I can see how that would work. I generally try _not_ to channel my shouty side.” Bruce chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “I wonder if Hulk would like that kind of music.” 

Clint considered. “Hm, maybe. We could test it out sometime if you wanted?” 

Bruce scrunched his face worriedly. “I’m still not on board with the whole idea of bringing him out on purpose except in emergencies,” he said. “But, I mean, sure, if you get a chance, I guess?” 

“Understandable. We’ll wait till you feel better with letting him out, I’m not in any rush.” 

“You say that like it’s inevitable,” Bruce said, half annoyed and half laughing. 

Tony popped up again then. “Hey, so I’ve been listening in on the synthesized data, and either the software still needs a _whole_ lot of work, or you two are talking about introducing Hulk to some Guns n’ Roses classics. I definitely want in on that.” 

Clint smirked. “Well everyone deserves to listen to great music, including the big guy.” He slipped his arm around Bruce. “Which reminds me, since when does the Hulk wait for permission?” he asked Bruce. 

“What?” Bruce blinked at Clint, completely unable to parse the question. “What did he do?” 

“After the brothers flew off, before Mad Dog showed up, he didn’t go after them, just stood there and looked at me like he was waiting for me to tell him it was okay.” Clint shrugged. “Come to think of it, he did a lot of stuff he doesn’t usually do.” 

Bruce blinked some more. “Wow. That… that’s…. Really? I didn’t even know, I mean, I’ve heard about how he saves you guys, but I didn’t think….” He trailed off into silence. 

Tony burst into quiet laughter. When Bruce looked questioningly at him, he gestured to an earpiece he was wearing. “I can _hear_ you thinking, Puffer Fish. And you think way too much about stuff that isn’t awesome science.” 

Clint chuckled. “Having Tony Stark able to hear my thoughts? Not sure I like this idea anymore,” he teased, turning to Bruce. “He’s never done it before, at least not for me. I should have mentioned it right when you turned back but we got… distracted.” He smiled, unable to stop himself from remembering the kiss. 

“Yeah, we did,” Bruce said, returning the smile. “Uh… I think maybe you’re right about actually trying to figure out how the Other Guy works being a good idea. There’s so much I don’t know.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Legolas. Your head’s all empty and squeaky clean. Can’t hear a thing.” Tony tapped his earpiece. 

Bruce glared at Tony, then looked back to Clint. “What he just said? Bears no resemblance to reality. I just subvocalize a lot because there are always words and numbers running through my head that I’m actively trying to focus on. Plenty of kinds of thoughts - spatial, visual, anything where you’re not actually talking to yourself - wouldn’t cause activity in these nerves.” He pointed to the electrodes on his neck. 

Clint absorbed that information, biting his lip. “So I have to deliberately be thinking to myself to have these things work?” 

“That, or you can just talk,” Tony answered. “The point of the system is having no sound coming into the system from outside. Noise going out of the system shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Of course, you’re trained for stealth, so you might find it useful to learn how to subvocalize for the mic without revealing your position,” Bruce said. “And yeah, that’s how you’d do it. Let the words run through your mind like you’re planning out what to say.” 

Clint nodded. _Alright, I think I’ve got it_ , he ran the words in his head like the two geniuses had told him to. 

Tony grinned. “You got it!” he said. “Okay, now the two of you get out of here. I have to check on the fabrication, and you need to find me some more test subjects. I hope the electrodes even _work_ on Thor. It’s hit and miss with him and electronics.” Tony pouted. “Very annoying.” 

Bruce gratefully began peeling electrodes off his neck. “If we have time, we can do some more testing after the real mics are ready, I guess.” 

Clint began taking them off. “Steve and Thor are probably in the gym; we’ll get them and then I’ll find something to keep me busy until I’m needed for guinea pig duties again.” 

Bruce nodded, heading for the door. “Hulk really waited for instructions? I…it’s hard for me to believe.” 

“Yeah, and before that he followed them. I told him to stay in front of the door and he did.” He shrugged. “Then when I said it was over and time to leave he just made sure I was safe and that’s when you turned back.” 

Bruce rubbed a hand across his face, taking that in. “I was wondering how you got him to change back. Usually he settles back down gradually, like he’s running out of fuel. But yesterday…he just let go, all at once.” He gave Clint a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I meant to ask. But…distractions.” 

“Well… It was a pretty great distraction if I do say so,” Clint said with a wink. 

“Yeah.” Bruce smiled as the elevator closed. “You need distracting again?” 

Clint smiled, pleasantly surprised, and nodded. “Oh yeah, I could definitely use a distraction right now.” 

Bruce backed Clint up against the wall of the elevator, and kissed him, but not forcefully. Slowly, carefully but very deliberately, with the weight and inexorability of snow piling up on a roof. 

Clint moaned; it was as if Bruce was trying to take him apart and put him back together with just one kiss. One hand gravitated toward Bruce’s back, the other to his waist, pulling him as close as possible. 

Bruce followed the guiding hands up to a point, but held himself back from pressing against Clint, and kept his attention on the sweet blend of soft and hard that was Clint’s mouth, and the muscles of his back and shoulders that were firm and yet pliant under Bruce’s fingers. 

Clints hands roamed the other man’s back, his other one rubbing lightly at his waist. He gave as good as he got with the kiss but, to his surprise, he was more than okay with letting Bruce control it. 

Bruce smiled into the kiss, and then broke it, giving a few smaller kisses before pulling away. He turned to lean against the wall beside Clint, breathing deeply and letting the unusual warmth of his mood sink into every cell. 

Clint smiled as he attempted to get his breathing back to normal. “Now _that_ is my kind of distraction.” 

Bruce laughed a little breathlessly. “You are a very bad influence on me.” 

Clint laughed. “But those are the best kind of influences, Freckles.” He leaned over and gave him a short but firm kiss before going back to leaning against the elevator wall. 

The doors rolled open, and Bruce moved towards them, shaking his head but still smiling. “I give up. I can’t figure out how my life makes any sense at all.” 

Clint smiled as he came up beside Bruce, his arm going around his waist. “I don’t think any of our lives have made sense for a while, Doc.” 

Bruce chuckled. “No, I guess not. But it’s in my nature to try and make sense of things.” He put an arm around Clint as well. “I guess I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop.” 

Clint smiled. “Well, if need be we’ll try and make sense of things together.” 

Bruce looked at Clint, something bright and almost tragically hopeful in his eyes. “It’s that simple?” 

Clint paused and looked at Bruce’s hopeful face. “It could be,” he said softly. 

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, trying to keep his emotions even. It seemed like such a small thing from an intellectual perspective, but every time Clint said something like that, something that meant there wasn’t a single aspect of Bruce’s life that Clint didn’t want to know about and help with, it would hit him like this. Bruce had always had to handle things on his own. That was just how his life worked. 

He leaned his forehead against Clint’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that.” 

He smiled softly, leaning down and kissing the top of his head, running a hand through his hair. “Sounds good, Freckles.” 

Bruce let himself stand there for a minute more, breathing and taking in the sensation of fingers in his hair. Then he took a deep breath, threw his thoughts back into some sort of order, and looked around. “Right. What were we doing?” 

“Going to get Tony some new victi- I mean test subjects.” He smirked and grabbed Bruce’s hand and began walking towards the gym. 

“Right.” Bruce managed to gather enough enthusiasm for a small smile at the prospect of Tony going mad scientist and sticking electrodes all over the two in the gym, but mostly he just held tight to Clint’s hand and went along for the ride. He was still feeling slightly unbalanced. 

Clint walked in to see Steve and Thor. “Hey guys, it’s your turn to let Tony test you guys.” 

Steve looked up from the bag he had been pulverizing. “All right, I needed to talk with him about the plan anyway.” 

“How goes the pursuit of technology?” Thor asked. 

“Not bad,” Bruce answered. “We’re testing and calibrating a new closed comm system. It reads electrical impulses through the skin.” Bruce looked at Thor thoughtfully, biting his lip. “We’re hoping there’s some way to make it compatible with your physiology.” 

Thor picked up his hammer with a thoughtful expression. “Then I had best go now. The last time we ran equipment tests, it took many trials before the devices stopped exploding.” 

Clint smirked. Now that would have been fun to see. 

Steve went to follow Thor but paused in front of Clint. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m fine, Cap,” Clint said, waving his concerns off. “I’m finding ways to help where I can and when I can’t I find ways to distract myself.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of sad how used I am to people wanting me dead.” 

Steve gave an understanding nod. “Well, if you’re both okay I’ll head down to the lab.” With a smile and a nod to them both, he left the gym. 

“So,” Bruce said, turning to Clint, “any idea what you want to do now?” 

Clint considered. “Unfortunately I don’t think there’s anything else I can do at the moment.” He thought some more and had an idea. “How much time do you think we have left?” 

“At least an hour.” Bruce looked at Clint. “You think of something? If not, I have a few ideas.” 

He shook his head. “Ideas for another, calmer day when we don’t have a time limit. What’s yours?” 

“Well, you’ve been down to the range today, but I haven’t,” Bruce said. “You could give me another lesson.” 

Clint smiled. “That’s a great idea.” 

“I figure I might as well. The stuff in my area of expertise is done, for the tech, but it’s all buzzing around in my head still. It’d be nice to have something physical to do.” 

Clint nodded. “All right, sounds like a plan,” he said, heading toward the range, hand still linked with Bruce’s. 

Bruce smiled, liking the feel of Clint’s hand in his, liking the way once a decision was made, his movements were confident and unhesitating. It occurred to Bruce that the Hulk might have responded to that, too - maybe his own tendency to hesitate was one reason the Hulk was so far out of control. 

“I have an idea,” he told Clint as they entered the range and started getting things out. “I think I might know one reason Hulk likes you.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? What’s the theory, Doc?” 

“I’m not sure if I can explain it exactly right. It’s part of the way you move. The way you make decisions. Archery reminds me of it.” Bruce frowned in thought as he put on his equipment. “You let yourself _know_ things without having to stop and think them over a dozen times. Hulk hates it when I can’t decide things.” 

He let that sink in. “So the Hulk likes that I’m decisive?” he asked, wanting to be sure he understood correctly. 

“I think so,” said Bruce. “It’s hard to know, because I think in words, and he really, really doesn’t. But I can still sometimes figure things out that he thinks.” He frowned. “I remember how he felt on the Helicarrier, just before… that… _incident._ Natasha… she’s very careful, very calculating about everything she does. Not indecisive, but… something. Something the Other Guy _really_ didn’t like.” 

“Maybe it’s not decsiveness or indecisiveness,” Clint mused out loud. “Tasha is one of the most decsisive people I know; she picks a plan and goes with it…. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t… overthink. Nothing to do with deciding, I just trust my gut, run on pure instinct half the time. Any thoughts I’m having are fast and I don’t process them. Like… autopilot almost. If that makes sense?” 

“Instinct,” Bruce said contemplatively. “Yeah, it does. I don’t trust… well, anything about myself, really.” He picked up his bow. “Except you kind of have to, to shoot, don’t you?” 

He nodded. “Not all archers, some are the type to think it out, the best angle and wind speed and all that before shooting. And I take those into account, of course, but not… consciously. Autopilot, like I said. I just let the arrow go and… trust I know what I’m doing.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, nodding. “Yeah, I think this is exactly what I need to be doing right now.” He smiled, and set up to begin shooting. 

Clint smiled. “You want me behind you again to help out like last time?” 

Bruce bit his lip. “You know what? Yeah. I think I could stand to be a little bit distracted right now.” 

Clint laughed softly. “I’ll try not to be _too_ distracting,” he said before going to stand behind him. “Okay, get in your stance.” 

Bruce took a breath, and focused. He carefully positioned his feet. He nocked an arrow, raised his bow, and pulled. 

Clint smiled. “You’re getting better,” he said; the only adjustment he made was lowering Bruce’s elbow slightly. “Okay, you know the drill - controlled, relaxed, deep breath.” He put his hand over Bruce’s like the last time. 

Bruce tried to relax, focusing in on the target. He thought about trusting himself and his instincts; he wasn’t quite able to yet. But that was why Clint was here, helping him, guiding his hands. He decided to trust Clint. He breathed, and relaxed. He loosed the arrow. 

It landed very close to the center of the target. 

Clint smiled brightly. “Wow, Freckles, that was your best shot so far. I was right about you getting better.” He gave him a small kiss. “Lets give it another try.” 

Bruce blinked for a moment at the target. Then he smiled as well. He took hold of Clint’s hand and squeezed it before reaching for another arrow. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he said. 

Clint shrugged. “I really didn’t do much, Doc; that was mostly you.” 

Bruce looked at Clint with a little sidelong smirk. “I guess it all depends on your perspective,” he said. He nocked his second arrow, and drew. 

Clint smiled, lowering his elbow once more before placing his hand over Bruce’s, not giving him instructions this time. 

Bruce relaxed, settling into his stance and focusing on the target again. He loosed the second arrow, way off the mark this time, probably because his mind was swirling with thoughts about how he’d made that first shot. 

Clint bit his lip in thought. “You’re overthinking, psyching yourself up. Just… focus on one calming thing and let the feeling of calm take over.” He placed as hand on his shoulder. “Remember, controlled, not tense.” 

Bruce smiled ruefully. “Easier said than done. I _know_ that’s what I did the first time, and that’s what I was _thinking about_ the second time. This isn’t going to be easy for me.” He sighed as he reached for another arrow. 

Clint nodded. “Okay,” he said, putting his hand over Bruce’s hand once again. “You only just started and you’re already doing better than a lot of beginners. I know it isn’t easy, but try to take the pressure off yourself.” 

Bruce laughed softly. “Yeah, I know, and I’m OK. Just being realistic.” He lined up his third shot, breathing evenly. But now he was thinking way too much, mostly about not thinking. He held his stance while he tried to get out of the mental labyrinth he had created for himself. 

Clint said nothing, not wanting to add any thoughts to Bruce’s mind; he just lightly rubbed his hand, hoping to at least relax his body if not his mind. 

Bruce felt the touch on his hand, and it brought him back to a simpler place. _Trust_ , he reminded himself, and focused on the target, without examining it, without thinking about it. It was as if he’d been looking at trees, and suddenly he saw the forest. 

He let go. 

A little low, but good. He smiled. 

Clint smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the other man’s lips. “You really are getting good, Freckles,” he said with a smirk. 

Bruce let himself lean into the kiss a little bit. His perception of everything was still slightly shifted. There was a smile on his face, just a small one, but he didn’t think he could shake it if he tried. “Yeah, I think I can figure this out,” he said, and got out another arrow. 

“You’re definitely getting the hang of it; pretty soon you probably won’t need me.” 

Bruce shook his head. “No, that’s not happening anytime soon,” he said as he nocked his fourth arrow. 

Clint smiled. “Okay, as long as you still need my help with this I’ll be here.” He put his hand over Bruce’s once more. 

“Good.” Bruce smiled. 

He took his next few shots more quickly, Clint’s touch steadying him, reminding him not to think too much and that he could trust he was doing all right. He relaxed a little more each time. Only one arrow ended up way off on the edge of the target. 

“I’m blaming that one on you,” he said to Clint jokingly. “Your breath was being tickly.” 

Clint laughed. “I apologize,” he said, blowing on his neck with a smirk. “I’ll attempt to keep the ticklish breath to a minimum.” 

Bruce chuckled. “I think I’ll try a couple shots on my own, but don’t go far, OK?” 

Clint smiled. “You got it, Doc,” he said, stepping back and to the side a bit. 

Bruce settled his feet again and nocked another arrow, trying to find that place where he lost himself inside the target. Sometimes he could and sometimes he couldn’t, and the most frustrating part of it was that the harder he tried to find it, the more elusive it seemed. So he didn’t find it, but he checked his stance, breathed, relaxed, and let go anyway. And that shot wasn’t bad either. 

The next shot he didn’t again, but the last one he did - and it didn’t seem to make a difference to his accuracy, really, but it just felt right. He turned to Clint with a bright smile. 

Clint beamed. “You’re a pretty quick study, Doc,” he said, coming closer again. 

“Yeah, I’m surprised,” said Bruce. “It’s not easy, but it’s definitely….” He paused, searching for a word. “I like it, I guess is what I’m trying to say. It’s… right.” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I get that. That’s what it’s like for me.” 

Bruce wanted to enjoy this moment, but the knowledge of what might be happening soon trickled its way into his mind. He went to retrieve his arrows. 

Clint watch as Bruce’s smile faded slightly, and he had a pretty good idea of what had caused it. “It’s going to be okay, Doc; I’m going to be okay.” 

Bruce was silent as he pulled his arrows out of the target. There were a lot of things he thought about saying, but there was nothing that he wanted to hear out loud. 

Clint frowned and walked up behind Bruce, wrapping his arms around the man. “I _promise_ ,” he said softly. 

Bruce slumped a little bit in Clint’s arms, letting himself feel a little bit of the helplessness that was threatening to unbalance him. He couldn’t answer; none of these thoughts were useful ones. He turned to ones that were, finding himself on familiar ground again. 

“After we get everything back in order here, we should go see how the equipment’s coming. The mics will probably be ready, at least.” 

Clint nodded. “Sounds good.” He reluctantly let go of Bruce to help with the clean up. 

Bruce unstrung his bow and put it away, going over some of the programming things he and Tony had talked about in his head. When everything was stowed, he returned to Clint’s side, interlacing their hands. 

Clint gave a small smile, squeezing Bruce’s hand before heading to the elevator. 

When they arrived at the lab, Tony was carefully applying a flexible, rounded gray trapezoid to the underside of Thor’s chin with some kind of adhesive. Bruce thought he could see scorch marks on the skin before Tony covered them up. Steve already had a similar device attached to his neck. 

“Looks like the first one was a loss. Did you at least get calibration before it blew?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah, the signal strength was just a little high. This baby’s got a series of progressively less sensitive transistors, just in case,” Tony replied, patting Thor’s chin, and Thor responded with a half-joking glare. “Yours is ready,” Tony continued, pointing at Clint. “As for you?” He turned to Bruce. “I’m undecided on the whole adhesive question. Don’t think your standard spirit gum is quite going to do the job here.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “You think you can get it to stay on when I change?” 

“Brucey, I can do anything, you should know that by now,” Tony responded. “I’m just not sure how yet.” 

Clint observed the mic. “Huh, so - ” 

His phone chose that moment to vibrate; he took the phone out. “It’s Nat,” he told the others before putting it on speaker. “We’re all here, Tasha. what’s-“ 

“I got the information - we were right about it being Crossfire,” she said in a voice Clint new all too well. 

“You’ve been fighting. What happened?” 

“Bobcat was after you, thought getting me could draw you out. I’m fine.” Clint froze; they had gone after her. This was what he had been afraid of; what if next it was Bruce? Or any of the others. He heard another voice in the background. “You shut up, I had it under control,” she told the voice. Before Clint could ask what the hell was going on, “I’ll be back in 15 minutes, tops,” she said before hanging up. 

“Clint, she said she was okay,” Steve said after a minute of silence. 

Clint said nothing; he vaguely registered he was holding Bruce’s hand in a vice grip. 

Bruce nearly matched the archer’s pressure with his own grip. The other hand went to Clint’s shoulder so he could catch and hold his gaze. “She’s going to be back soon, and we’ll be ready for whatever happens then.” He half-turned his head to speak to Tony, but didn’t take his eyes off Clint. “How’s that new armor for Clint going? About ready?” 

“Yep.” You could tell when Tony went into serious mode because it was the only time he was capable of being laconic. He handed off the other three finished mics to Bruce without a word, before rushing off to get armor. 

“Might as well get set up with these now that we have them,” Bruce said, lifting one of the mics and getting it set for application. “This guy won’t take us off guard.” 

Clint let himself lean into Bruce’s touch. He knew everyone was capable of taking care of themselves, but if something happened because of Cross’s personal grudge against Clint… it would be another thing he’d never forgive himself for. 

He didn’t say anything; he needed to get back a sense of control before anything else. His response to the others’ words were nods. 

Bruce stuck the subvocal mics on both of them. Spirit gum, or whatever this was, would have to do for now. “Jarv, are the earpieces to this system done?” 

“Yes, Doctor. Third bench. Thor is already wearing his.” 

“You running the software through the suit systems? Can you monitor external reception from Clint’s aids and cut it off if necessary?” He looked at Clint. “Is that all right, if Jarvis makes the call?” 

Clint took a deep breath, grasping at whatever shred of control he still had. “Yeah, he can make the call as long as he tells me he’s making it first.” 

“Okay. Remember, you’ll still be able to hear the team through the mics.” Bruce squeezed Clint’s hand again. 

Tony was back, carrying a suit that looked remarkably similar to the one Clint had worn during the invasion. He handed it over. “Tried to keep the range of motion you have with what you’re used to. Cap, you got your earpieces in?” He grabbed the other sets. “Code Green, what do you think the chances are of equipment survival if I glue these to the posterior plane of the tragus?” 

“Not good,” Bruce said. “Do it anyway.” 

Tony did, then dashed off, saying, “Time for me to suit up.” 

Bruce was left holding Natasha’s new set of comm equipment and wondering if it was a terrible idea for him to be anywhere near here right now. 

Clint took a deep breath, tuning out his thoughts and letting his instincts take over. “Steve, tell me we have a game plan.” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, it’s not much but it’ll work. We’ll be all around you, making a sort of perimeter. I’ll go get geared up and go over it when everyone’s here.” He gave Clint as reassuring look as he could before leaving the room. 

Thor huffed. “The anticipation of battle is very different when one’s comrades have such widely varied abilities and strengths.” He smiled bravely. “But we have triumphed over worse odds, and come out near unscathed. We will succeed.” 

Bruce nudged Clint. “You gonna put that on?” he said, gesturing to the new body armor. 

Clint nodded. “Yeah.” He stood. “I’ll be back once I’m ready.” He gave Bruce’s shoulder a squeeze, more for his own assurance than his, before reluctantly letting go and heading to his room to get ready. 

Bruce slumped a little, once Clint had gone. 

“You worry that you will not be able to do enough to protect your love,” Thor said. “But you have already done more than any of us. Know that you are a worthy ally.” 

“The Other Guy isn’t me,” Bruce said, “and I don’t even know if I should be letting him out today. He could make things… infinitely worse.” 

“I do not speak of the Hulk,” Thor said. “Tony told me that these devices were your idea. That they will protect us from this man’s mind control, something that Clint must fear all the more because of Loki. Your knowledge… your ability to think in a crisis… are today perhaps more valuable than any amount of strength.” 

“Uh.” Bruce was a little taken aback at that. “Thanks, Thor.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. 

Then Tony was back, in the suit with the faceplate up, and they were going over algorithms and contingencies again.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint let himself space out as he got ready, letting his body act on instinct while he thought things over. Bruce was okay. Tasha was okay. Tony, Steve, Thor, all okay. They could take care of themselves and the only person who seemed to be blaming Clint for everything was… well, Clint. He took a deep breath as he finished putting on the armor and grabbed his bow, telling himself it was all going to be okay… it had to be. 

Bruce kept up with Tony as they made last-minute adjustments to the programming, but he couldn’t get fully absorbed in it. He kept looking to the door, waiting for Clint to reappear. 

It was going to be torture, when Clint was out there fighting for his life and Bruce couldn’t join, couldn’t protect him, for fear of making things worse. 

Clint walked into the lab, immediately standing as close as he could to Bruce without disrupting whatever work he was doing. “Any word from Nat?” he asked. She had said 15 minutes and it had been 20; if it took much longer he was going to go search. 

Bruce was reassured to see Clint, but the archer looked tense and anxious. His question suggested a reason. Bruce looked to Tony. 

Tony frowned. “Not yet. Jarv, run scans around the tower, hack the usual video feeds. Let me know what’s going on out there.” He looked at Clint. “If that doesn’t turn anything up, I do a flyover.” 

Clint nodded. Hopefully they’d get answers; the sooner he knew all his friends were all safe the sooner he would feel like his world wasn’t upside down. “Sounds good.” 

Jarvis reported, “There appears to be some kind of commotion, on the far side of Grand Central Terminal, under the Park Avenue bridge. A group of what were assumed to be street performers are in combat with Agent Romanoff and her companion. Given the lighting conditions, none can be positively identified by facial features at this time, but Miss Romanoff’s abilities are distinctive.” 

Tony gave one of Jarvis’s cameras an amused glance, but otherwise managed not to comment. “I don’t know where the hell Cap is, but I’m not waiting to head out. You see him, you tell him _he_ missed the meeting.” He put down his faceplate with a clang, and flew out through a set of doors that presumably Jarvis had opened. 

“Comms are up, though noise cancellation protocols have not been activated,” Jarvis replied. “He can hear you.” 

“I’m heading out too,” Clint said. “I’m not sitting around here doing nothing. Who’s with me?” 

Steve walked in then and took in everyone’s expressions. “What did I miss?” 

“Nat got held up, Tony is out there already.” 

“I must go and aid the lady. Who will fly with me?” Thor said, holding out a hand. 

Tony’s voice came up over the comms. “It’s not far, it’s literally the end of the block. Can’t promise to leave any for you, though. Is that guy throwing _bowling pins?_ This is a joke.” Then the woman in the troupe threw a grenade at him. “Okay, not so much joking any more.” 

Bruce looked at Clint. “I don’t think it’s time for the Other Guy’s entrance yet. I’ll be listening in, though. Things get bad, he’ll be there.” 

Clint and Steve shared a look before Steve took off. 

He turned to Bruce and gave him a firm kiss. “Ill be okay,” he promised before going up to Thor. “Fly me up, buddy.” 

Thor nodded at Bruce before hefting Clint and flying off to join the battle. 

Bruce, alone in the lab space now, sank onto a chair, then slowly lowered his head until it rested against the worktable in front of him. 

\- 

Under the bridge, five people in colorful costumes were juggling various objects. It had started out as a street performance, and to the casual passerby, it still might look that way. Two men, one tall and one short, were tossing a variety of sharp objects back and forth between each other. Two others were trading balls and flaming bowling pins. Between them, they had so far managed to keep Natasha from getting close enough to any of them to do serious injury. And the woman was now keeping Iron Man busy picking explosives out of the air before they could hit anyone less armored. 

Thor set Clint down on the outer corner of the raised portion of Park Avenue, so that he could see under the bridge and most of the surrounding area. Then he jumped down to the lower street, surveying the combat and looking for an opening. 

Clint immediately drew his bow and fired an arrow at the knee of one of the four men, surprised when the man across from him got hit in the shoulder with an arrow he hadn’t fired. Clint spared a glance to the direction it had come from. A silhouette of a man with a bow was at a slightly lower vantage point. The figure fired another arrow and Clint immediately knew who it was by the form. Now wasn’t the time for thinking, however, so Clint put it in the back of his mind before shooting an exploding arrow at the woman. 

Down on the ground Steve arrived less than a minute after Clint and Thor and used his shield to get him next to Natasha to back her up. 

Oddball went down, clutching his knee. Tenpin reeled at the arrow in his shoulder, but still managed to catch half of his flying bowling pins and send them in a flurry of blows at Steve and Natasha. Bombshell managed to send a grenade to intercept the explosive arrow, but the resulting combined blast was larger than she expected and still knocked her back. She tossed a bomb back in Clint’s direction, but Tony took that one out, and then she was knocked down again, pretty firmly this time, by Thor’s hammer. 

“Is this all the Avengers?” Ringleader laughed. “Didn’t realize we’d have such an audience for this show. And the guest of honor’s finally arrived.” He sent a couple of his razor rings in Clint’s direction. 

“Show’s over,” Iron Man quipped back, taking aim at the flying rings, but he only managed to knock one out of the air. 

Clint quickly fired an explosive arrow. It hit its mark, but the blast had been rather close to Clint, knocking him back. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned. He had landed on his recently healed shoulder. It hurt like hell, and so did the stinging cuts from the remnants of the ring that had scattered, but he could tell there was no immediate damage. He quickly sent an arrow back in the direction of the Ringleader, ignoring the twinge his shoulder gave. 

Steve used Tenpin’s injury to his advantage, throwing his shield and effectively knocking the man out. 

Another arrow from the other archer hit Knickknack on his hand, followed by a swift kick to the head from Natasha. 

Ringleader took the arrow in the arm, but as he looked around, he saw four avengers arrayed around him and his whole troupe down. “All right, all right, tough crowd,” he said, and dropped the last of his weapons. 

Tony flew up in the direction of Clint’s perch. “You had better be all right up there, Cupid.” 

Back in the tower, Bruce’s whole upper body tensed just a little as he waited for a reply. 

It was silent for a moment while Clint catalogued his injuries. “Nothing permanent,” he said finally. “Shallow cuts, deep one near my ribs is the worst of those, and my shoulder’s wrenched, but I’ve had worse.” He walked to where Tony was hovering. ”Now anyone want to explain what Buck is doing here?” 

Bruce slumped again in relief at hearing Clint’s voice, then grimaced at the list of injuries. 

“Don’t ask me, I didn’t invite him to this party,” Tony was saying to Clint. 

“Is this not the man we spoke of last night?” Thor asked curiously. 

“Yeah, that’s him,” Clint said, watching the man climb down from where he had previously been and approaching the group. He turned back to Tony. “Wanna give me a lift down?” 

“Yeah, sure, why not.” Tony took hold of the back of Clint’s suit and lifted him into the air. “Wow, you broke your new toy already,” he said as he put Clint down and examined the tear in his armor. “What the hell are those rings made of.” 

“Hell if I know, hurts like hell though,” Clint muttered before turning to find himself face to face with his old mentor. “Buck.” 

Buck gave a smirk, reminiscent of Clint’s own. “Please, no need to be so excited.” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?” 

“He helped me with Bobcat,” Natasha piped up. 

“Saved your ass, more like.” 

Natasha glared. “Sped it along at best,” she corrected. “I also have good news. Cross doesn’t want you dead.” 

“Then what does he want?” Steve asked. 

Natasha and Buck shared a look that made Clint’s stomach sink. “Nat?” 

“We shouldn’t have this conversation out in the open. There’s more people confirmed to be after you.” 

“Right. Back to the tower.” Tony hoisted Clint again. “You called Agent, right Jarvis?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Good, I need to mock him. He clearly put way too many zippers on ol’ Spangles’ new outfit. It’s slowing him down.” But once they were back in the lab, he popped his faceplate so comms cut out, and only Bruce and Clint could hear him mutter. “Not that _I_ did much better. Still haven’t got the hang of body armor that’ll stop shrapnel.” His face was hardened over a layer of pain as he left to shed his armor. 

Bruce had his hands on Clint as soon as they’d touched down, checking him over of course, but also he just needed the reassurance that Clint was alive and real. He made the archer sit and focused on what he needed to do to treat the wounds. 

Clint frowned as he looked after Tony, but knew nothing he said would make it okay, so he focused on calming Bruce. “I’m all right, Doc; the armor kept it at a minimum. The one in the ribs is the only one that isn’t on exposed skin,” he assured, but let the other man check him over all the same. 

Bruce saw that it was true, and he finally let himself breathe. He looked at Clint’s face, to make sure he was all right other ways, but the only trouble on his face at the moment seemed to be concern for Bruce. He laughed a little in sheer relief. 

“All right, good.” He rested a hand against the side of Clint’s face. “Just let me clean these out and stitch up this one.” 

He nodded. “The only other damage is what’s sure to be a nasty bruise on my shoulder,” he informed; he knew from experience that hiding injuries from Bruce never really worked out. 

The lab door opened and Nat, Steve and Buck walked in. “Where’s Thor?” Clint asked. 

“Stayed behind,” Steve answered. “Are you-“ 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Clint said, wondering how many times he was going to have to say it. 

“That’s close enough to the truth,” Bruce said as he prepped the deepest cut for stitches. “Nothing critical damaged.” 

Tony came back in, out of his suit but two silver bracelets shining on his wrists. “So who were _those_ lunatics?” 

\- 

Coulson walked up beside Thor to join him in watching as the Death Throws were taken into custody. 

“Son of Coul,” Thor said, nodding in greeting. “Are you bound for the tower to hear our stories of battle?” 

“Something like that,” the agent replied. “I take it everyone’s all right?” 

“Agent Barton sustained what he assured us were minor injuries,” Thor answered. 

Coulson’s mouth thinned slightly as he considered that. “Not always the best way to know,” he said. “I’d like to see for myself.” 

“I can bear you most swiftly to his location, if you would like,” Thor offered, holding out a hand. 

Phil eyed the offered appendage with dubious amusement. “I think I’ll take the usual way,” he said. “But the offer’s appreciated.” He headed to his car. 

“Then I will accompany you,” said Thor. 

\- 

“Death Throws is what they call themselves,” Clint answered. “I expected them eventually, there Cross’s go-to Mercs.” He turned to Nat. “So, he doesn’t want me dead…. What does he want?” 

“Your arm,” she answered in a hard voice. 

“100,00 for the arm… 200,000 if your still alive and without an arm,” Buck informed, noticeably concerned at the look that was now on Clint’s face. “He doesn’t want you dead, he wants you broken.” 

Bruce paused his work for a moment, jaw tightening at what he heard. He looked up at Clint’s face and nearly lost it right there. He breathed very deliberately, putting his hand on Clint’s, hoping it would help both of them stay calm. 

Clint had to hand it to Cross, he knew how to go for the heart. Without his arm he could never shoot a bow, and without that he wasn’t him; leaving him alive was just a cherry on top. “And how did you get involved?” he asked Buck. 

“I’ve cleaned up,” he assured his former protégé. “I’ve been going from circus to circus since I went into remission, but I still have contacts and through them I caught wind of this. Figured the least I could do is check it out, see if there was any truth to it and warn you if there was.” 

Clint nodded; he focused on Bruce’s hand, his presence. He knew he was calming him just as much as Bruce was calming Clint. 

Bruce frowned at his work, deciding that the stitches he’d put in were enough for now, and that it would do both of them the most good if he left his hand where it was. Instead, he sat down next to Clint, stroking his hand with a thumb. “I’m not done with you yet, I’m just taking a break,” he said warningly. “Don’t go anywhere until that’s bandaged.” Then he looked up at Buck, assessing. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint said with a small smile, sliding his fingers between Bruce’s and giving a light squeeze. “So you felt the need to warn me but not to tell me you were out of the hospital?” 

Buck looked at the clasped hand with a raised eyebrow, but knew better than to tease when his former pupil was in this mood. “You’ve done more than enough for me; I’m not your problem, kid. Believe it or not I _am_ capable of taking care of myself,” he said with a smirk which Clint returned. 

“As touching as this reunion is, does anyone have a plan?” Natasha said, her arms crossed. “We have at least two more that we know will come after Clint, and then there’s Cross.” 

The elevator opened and Thor and Coulson strode out. Thor smiled to see that everything seemed well. Phil gave Clint a long appraising look before turning to face the others in the room with businesslike efficiency. “I hear we have a situation,” he said. 

“Nothing the Avengers can’t handle,” Tony replied with a cocky smile, although for those who knew him well, it was a pretty obvious cover for the sting of failure, that Clint hadn’t been protected well enough and it could have gone much worse. “You’re welcome to join us though. Apparently there’s supposed to be a plan? And planning’s not really my thing.” He waved a hand in the general direction of Steve, Coulson and Natasha. “You guys plan. I’ll… get drinks.” He intercepted a tiny glare from Bruce and widened his eyes innocently. “Don’t glare at me, Brucey, I’m talking about those fancy health-juice thingies you always leave around with your granola bars.” 

Clint visibly relaxed at seeing Coulson - the man had been his handler since he joined SHIELD, and with that came a certain amount of trust. Phil Coulson, as cliché as it was, was the closest thing Clint had to a decent father figure. 

“The hit on Clint was issued by Crossfire,” Natasha informed Coulson. “From what I know we’ve taken care of the majority of people who decided to attempt to collect. However, if rumors are to be believed, it won’t be too long before we run into either Bullet Biker or Razor Fist.” 

The three SHIELD agents all shared a look; they had dealt with both criminals before and knew what to expect. 

Phil put a hand to his chin as he thought. “This is a self-sustaining facility with excellent security,” he said. 

“And yet you still manage to walk right through it,” Tony grumbled. 

“I’m special,” the agent replied with a tiny smile, which disappeared as soon as he got back on topic. “The point is, despite its accessibility, this is one of the safest places on the planet, and that’s without taking into account the combined power of the Avengers. So as much as you might like this to be over,” he said, looking at Clint, “waiting it out might be a better alternative.” 

Meanwhile, Bruce had gone to wash his hands, once he saw that Coulson’s presence was doing the job he had been needed for, and now he was finishing up with the bandages. 

Clint shook his head. “I know these guys. If they can’t get me, they’ll find a way to get me out. Most likely by going after innocent civilians. No offense, Sir, but I have no intention of letting it get that far.” 

“What if we dealt with them?” Steve suggested. “You could stay here where it’s secure and - ” 

“The hell I will!” Clint said. The only thing that kept him from standing was the fact that Bruce’s hands kept him down. “I’m not letting you guys fight my battles for me.” 

“Hey,” Bruce said, holding onto Clint’s arms and looking him in the eye. “We’re a team, okay? However we decide to do this, it’s not about who’s doing the fighting. It’s about what will get the job done.” 

Coulson’s chin tensed slightly, revealing a hint of a frustrated frown. “Well, I suppose it’s not going to do any good ordering him off the field. He’ll just show up anyway. So we’d do better with a plan that accounts for that.” 

Clint nodded at Bruce’s words. He knew the other man was right, knew if it was any of the others he’d be telling them the same thing. But they were after _him_ and if his friends were charging in, he was going to be right by them. 

“We could always tie him to a chair,” Buck suggested with a smirk that didn’t even falter at the withering glare Clint sent his way. 

Bruce finished with the bandages, straightening up and going to stand next to Clint. “All right,” he said, “let me look at that shoulder. At least then I’ll have some idea how much damage you’ll be doing yourself.” 

Phil raised his eyebrows at Clint, but didn’t say anything more. 

“Fine, you want to be in the fight, you can be in the fight,” Natasha said, obviously annoyed at her friend’s stubbornness. “But if that’s the case, you have someone with you at all times out there.” 

Clint bit back the automatic protest to the suggestion and stood up and took off the clothing from his upper half so Bruce could better see his shoulder without fabric in the way, tensing slightly at the pain. “If - and that’s a _big_ if - we go with that plan, which one of you is playing body guard?” 

Tony came over and snatched up the vest once it was free. “Not it, I don’t play babysitter,” he said, before settling in to peer at the broken fibers around the gash and mutter at Jarvis about tensile strength. 

“Well, if Hulk’s out there, I don’t think anyone else would have a say in where he goes, and I’m still not sure I want to take that chance, given who our enemy is.” Bruce prodded gently at the muscles of Clint’s shoulder, judging from the level of grimace where the damage was and how bad. Then he lifted the arm to test range of motion. 

“If I understand the likely outcome of this plan,” Thor began, “their goal will be Agent Barton, and anything that takes us away from him will likely be a ruse. Whatever his location, that is where the real fight will be. I, for one, will stand by him.” 

“And I can guard the decoy,” Natasha said. 

“Wait, what decoy?” Clint asked, flinching when Bruce lifted his arm all the way. 

Natasha looked at Clint, then Buck, with a raised eyebrow. “Whoa, wait why am **I** being volunteered?” Buck asked, stepping back as if that could make the stares from the team go away. 

“Because you and Clint look similar enough. Put on his uniform and from a distance people are likely to fall for it. Add to that the fact that you’re the only one even _remotely_ on the same skill level as Clint and you’re the obvious choice. That, and you tried to kill him,” she said with a glare. 

“Not for _**real.**_ And I said sorry,” he defended. 

“You said you owe him…. This is a good way to pay off that debt,” Steve said. “It would be a good tatical advantage at the very least.” 

“You really should _not_ be shooting,” Bruce told Clint. He squeezed the archer’s uninjured shoulder comfortingly and went to sit down next to him again. “But if you’re going to be out there, I’m glad there’s someone who can take some heat off of you.” 

Phil nodded. “That sounds good. They’ll expect you to be with your partner,” he said to Natasha. “There aren’t many people I’d trust to pull off a lie like that, but you can sell this.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Clint assured Bruce. “My shoulder’s been worse and I was still able to shoot.” 

“We’ll split into two teams,” Steve was saying. “Clint, myself and Thor in one and Natasha, Tony and Buck in the other.” Steve looked at Bruce. “That is, if you still think it’s best for you to stay out of the fight.” 

Bruce chewed on his bottom lip as he thought. “There’s just too much I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d rather stay on the sidelines until it’s clear that I’m necessary. But on the other hand, it only takes one lucky shot… I don’t know. Clint?” 

Clint bit his lip in thought, attempting to not include his personal feelings. “Odds are none of these guys have any of Cross’s tech, so that shouldn’t be a problem, and while it would be nice to have an ace in the hole to call in, we don’t know how far we’d be and we might need immediate assistance.” He sighed and looked to Coulson. “What’s your take on this?” he asked, trusting his judgement. 

Coulson looked at Bruce with that entirely confident, entirely businesslike expression he had when something was important. “I believe in the Avengers, Dr. Banner,” he said. “I believe in all of the Avengers, because you always find a way to do what has to be done. I can’t tell you that nothing’s going to go wrong, but I can tell you that I care about Clint, and I’d feel much better if you were out there with him.” 

Bruce struggled with himself for a moment, then he let out a long breath. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go.” 

Steve gave a nod. “Bruce can be with us, then.” 

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point of a decoy?” Buck asked. “I mean, wouldn’t someone assume that the guy with three people protecting him is the real one, as opposed to the guy who only has two?” 

“Come on, be on my team, Cap,” Tony said. “It’s the best team.” 

Phil shook his head. “It shouldn’t matter, as long as we’re creating real doubt. Just the fact that they’ll have to stop and ask these questions will be to our advantage.” 

“I’ll go with Natasha and Tony,” Steve said. “Buck doesn’t look that much like you.” 

“And he’s not as good with a bow,” Clint said with a smirk. 

“The more we draw him away from Clint the better,” Steve said. “And Bruce and Thor are plenty of protection for him.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Clint said with a one-shoulder shrug. 

Bruce wrapped a hand tightly around Clint’s. “Seems like this is really going to happen,” he said. “Can we go back to the part where it was just an ominous shadow? I don’t like this.” 

“Do we have a location in mind?” Phil asked. “Any way to reduce civilian casualties?” 

“We head in opposite directions as far out of the city as we can. The less populated the area the better,” Natasha said. “For all we know someone’s waiting right outside. The best we can do is get as far away from the more populated areas as fast as we can until one of them finds us.” 

Steve nodded. “It’s not ideal but there are too many factors to plan it to the letter.” 

“Half a plan is better than no plan at all,” Clint said, squeezing Bruce’s hand. 

Bruce sighed, nodded, and began filling his mind with numbers, factoring from a list of beautifully breakable specimens that Jarvis had made for him. He’d memorized them and had been saving them. This was the time, because putting any more energy into this plan was only going to drain him. He started with 20475. Soon it had given him a nice comfortable distance between himself and the real world. 

Tony produced two more sets of hardware for the comm system, making three to apply including Natasha’s, which was still sitting on the bench where Bruce had left it. He made sure she knew how to apply them, then set his mind to the question of how they were going to “dress the bait up pretty,” as he put it. 

Clint looked around the room. Steve and Natasha were having a hushed discussion of what Clint assumed were tatics and back-up strategies for the upcoming battle. 

Buck was looking at Clint like he was trying to find the right words. Clint knew his former mentor well enough to guess what those words were and knew himself well enough to know this wasn’t the time to hear them. 

The room suddenly seemed too small and crowded and while the feel of Bruce’s hand helped slightly, the man himself was in his own mind, something Clint knew he needed. 

What Clint needed was to move and an open space to do that in. He gently removed his hand from Bruce’s and left the lab. He didn’t stray far, only to the corridor leading to the elevator, but it was enough for him to walk aimlessly as he attempted to sort his thoughts. 

Most of the people in the room were aware of when Clint left it, focused as they were on how to protect him. By silent accord, it was decided that Phil would be the one to follow. Despite what he’d said about security, they all felt better knowing someone had eyes on Clint. 

He stood by the door, using all his training and considerable natural talent to appear unobtrusive. 

\- 

Tony was talking at Buck. 

“Soon as I saw the armor was torn I started fabrication on a new set. It’s not perfect but it’s better than what he had. So that’s going to Clint, obviously. You going to be able to wear one of his old vests?” 

“I don’t exactly have a say in it, do I?” Buck said dryly, with a small smirk. ”It’ll be fine. Old armor is better than no armor.” 

“Don’t I know it. I’m talking strictly fit here, whether it needs to be modified at all. Oh, and you’ll need one of these mics.” Tony thrust one of the flexible grey trapezoids at him. 

Buck sighed, taking the mic. “Shoulda just stayed at the circus,” he muttered to himself. 

Tony made sure that Buck and Natasha had their comm equipment on securely, then checked the progress of the armor fabrication, which was going faster this time since the component materials had never stopped production. “Ten minutes left,” he announced, then looked around for something else his genius could improve. He pounced on Bruce. 

“What do you think, is straight cyanoacrylate our best bet, or should we go with something slightly more flexible?” 

Bruce blinked up at him, still wrapped up in his calculations. “What? for what?” 

“Your comm system. To make sure it stays on.” 

“Cyanoacrylate?” Bruce pondered. “If it does stay on, it’ll be a pain to remove. But that’s definitely not my biggest concern right now.” He nodded. “Yeah, I think it has a chance. You’ve got some?” 

Tony gave him a scandalized look. “What do you take me for? Of course I’ve got superglue.” 

Bruce chuckled, and they started re-applying the mic and earpieces. 

\- 

Clint sighed; he hated this. He wasn’t used to having a large number of people he cared about, but now he did. And past experience had taught him the more he cared about someone, the more likely it was that something would happen where he didn’t have them anymore. 

He looked at Coulson. “All of this isn’t necessary,” he said finally. “I’ve taken on all of these guys with little to no help… nobody else has to be at risk.” He had to get that out; it had been bouncing around in his head since this had all started. He had to give that option. 

Coulson widened his eyes and gave a skeptical nod. “Right. These aren’t civilians, Clint. They’re just as crazy as we are. They aren’t going to take kindly to being left out of the action.” He allowed himself an infinitesimal sigh. “I know the feeling, though. I’ve sent way too many agents out into the field when I knew I could have done the job better. But there are other priorities. I go where I’m needed.” 

Clint sighed. “I _know_ that. I do,” he said, sitting down. “I just hate it. All of it. I want it over with.” 

“Well,” said Phil, shaking his head slightly, “if I knew an answer to that, I’d turn it into a best-seller and be richer than Stark.” 

Clint gave a small smile. “Well if you ever _do_ figure it out, do me a favor and let me in on the secret before you write the book.” 

“Will do,” Phil said. 

Tony poked his head out into the hall. “Countdown’s in the single digits. Go get something of yours for your creepy friend to wear.” 

Clint gave an amused snort at Tony’s description of Buck. “Yeah, give me a minute,” he said, pressing the button to the elevator, stepping inside and pressing his floor number. 

Tony slid in beside him, pressing the number for his machine shop. “New armor’s just about done, might as well get it hot off the presses.” He frowned at Clint in a speculative sort of way, masking concern. Then he shook his head. “There really isn’t much point giving you the shovel talk, is there? At this point death threats must be like tic tacs to you. Not really going to notice one more.” 

“Well, I’ve never gotten a death threat from you, so that could be refreshing,” he said with a small smirk before his face went serious. “I promise I don’t need it, though; I have no intentions of hurting Bruce.” 

“Yeah, and you know what’s an ever-important part of that? _Not getting killed._ ” He grimaced a bit at that, then rolled his eyes. “I may not be the best example of how to do that, but just. You know. Keep it in mind. Take it from me, people get really tetchy if you go off running towards the danger without asking for help. Even if it’s for a really good reason. I mean, come on. These bracelets are not just a critical part of my arsenal. They are a must-have accessory.” Tony smirked. 

“Well, they are pretty fashionable. You should start a line,” he snarked. 

Clint didn’t know how the man knew that Clint had been considering going to deal with it on his own; he sincerely doubted the comment about running off alone was a coincidence. 

However it was Tony knew, the fact stood that he had a point. He had been so focused on protecting the closest thing he had to a family, was more than willing to give himself up for them to avoid them being hurt, that he hadn’t considered that him dying would possibly hurt just as much as any injury. 

That probably said something about him. 

“It’s in the works,” Tony said, eyes crinkling. The door opened and Tony got out. “And on the subject of state of the art defensive fashion, should have a new suit for you in a couple minutes. Try not to shred this one in its first two hours of existence.” 

Clint nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he assured with a smirk. 

Tony wandered off into his machine shop, watching the huge array of robots move together in a perfectly precise dance. The armor was just getting its final layer of stitching, the machines whirring quickly, quietly and efficiently. In here, at least, everything was as it should be. 

\- 

Phil moved back into the room where the others were congregated, slipping into place beside Natasha. “You want me on comms, coordinating secondary response if necessary?” He gestured at the equipment they were all wearing. “I take it there’s a new system.” 

Natasha nodded. “I think that’d be for the best,” she said. “Stark and Doctor Banner came up with it, to prevent any of us falling under the effects of Crossfire’s control. That’s the idea anyway.” She turned toward he handler, her voice lower. “How is he?” 

A muscle in Phil’s cheek twitched in the barest hint of an unhappy smile. “About like you’d expect,” he said, putting on the earpieces. “But I don’t think he’s going to do anything exceptionally idiotic.” 

Natasha nodded. Phil knew both of them well, and if he said Clint wasn’t going to do anything completely idiotic, then she trusted him to know what he was talking about. 

\- 

Tony hefted the new vest, eyeing the place where the first one had been ripped open by shrapnel. This wasn’t enough. 

Tony wasn’t good with emotions generally, but you’d have to be blind not to see that Bruce had been… different. 

Bruce had slotted into his life like a cog in a machine, content to be so, close but taken for granted, like Jarvis, like an iceberg, part of the scenery, only there inasmuch as he was needed. They were only minds, and minds were only tools for science. 

He’d seen more than that yesterday, today, something that hurt to look at, something that made terrible words echo in his head… “Shame you had to bring Pepper into this. I would have preferred she live….” 

No one got to take away the people who touched them that deeply, who reminded them that they were human. 

Tony briefly entertained the idea of instead lending out some real armor, so there would be two iron men rather than two hawkeyes. But he cringed at the wrongness of the idea, and thought Clint would probably feel similarly. 

So he took what he could give, and he went to find Clint. 

\- 

Clint entered his room and began searching for the best of his old uniforms for Buck. 

Despite Tony’s words the temptation to leave and handle this all himself was still strong. 

_‘You’re part of a team now.’_ The words he had told Bruce came rushing back to him. _‘That means you have some backup.’_ For all his beliefs that a team meant having people looking out for you and having your back, Clint was making it difficult for his to do so. 

It was time to take his own advice for once, he decided, grabbing the armor for Buck and heading back in the elevator. 

Tony stepped into the elevator. “Hey,” he said to Clint. “Long time no see.” 

“Not nearly long enough,” Clint snarled with a teasing grin. He looked at the armor in Tony’s hands. “That it then?” 

“Yep.” He looked at the garment in his hands. “It’s no Iron Man, but I guess that’s not the look you’re going for.” 

He shook his head. “Big metal suit, not exactly ideal for an archer,” he agreed. “I leave that particular fashion statement to you.” 

Tony smiled a bit unhappily and handed the thing over as the elevator opened again. “True, not everyone can pull it off.” 

Clint took the armor as they stepped out. “Thanks.” He handed his older uniform over. “For Buck, I’ll be right in.” 

Tony eyed the vest. “I don’t like being handed things,” he said. 

Clint nodded, putting the vest on the floor. “Right, sorry. I forget. I’ll give it to him.” He began putting on the new vest. 

Tony made a slightly uncomfortable face, pulling his lips back from his teeth a bit. “Yeah, not the most practical habit now that I live with the team. Much more practical when some of the people asking for my autograph actually really hate my guts.” 

Clint shrugged. “Everyone has unpractical habits, including me.” He finished putting the vest on. “Trust me, yours is hardly the least practical I’ve come across.” He picked up the vest on the floor and sighed. “We should probably get back in there.” 

“Yep.” Tony put on his public-face smile. “Time to get this show started.” And he walked back into the lab. 

Clint ignored the multiple sets of eyes that focused on him as soon as he entered the room and went to sit by Bruce, putting a hand on his knee. He tossed the vest to Buck. “Everything set?” 

Bruce blinked himself back to awareness at the touch. With it came the dread, helplessness and seething anger that meant that when the time came, giving over to Hulk would be easier than falling down stairs. He pulled Clint towards him for a moment, just breathing in the smell of him until emotion threatened to overwhelm him. Then he sat up, almost growling as he said, “I’m ready as I’m ever going to get.” 

“Let us go forth!” Thor agreed. 

“Exit strategies?” Tony asked. “You going north or south? Want me to go first and do a quick flyover?” 

“We head north. Clint and the others go south,” Steve said. 

“We go first, Clint’s group exactly a minute and a half after us,” Natasha said. “Stark, we need you scouting ahead; the more we look like we’re pulling out all the stops for Buck, the more they’ll assume Clint is the decoy.” 

“Right.” Tony nodded, striding out of the room and into his waiting armor. “Comms are up,” they heard him say in their earpieces. “Coming around to the north. Traffic’s not as horrendous as usual; not much else I can tell you yet.” 

Natasha grabbed Buck by the arm. “Lets go.” She exited the room quickly. 

“Good Luck,” Steve said before following after the other two. 

Clint waited 30 seconds before standing and heading toward the elevator, knowing the others would be right behind him. 

“Good luck,” echoed Phil, nodding as the remaining three left, leaving him alone in the tower. 

“There’s no south exit on the street levels without going through the Terminal,” Bruce said as they stood in the elevator. “And I’m guessing you want to minimize civilian involvement. Exit east, then head south?” 

Clint nodded. “That was the plan, yeah,” he said, pleased they were on the same page. He gave Bruce’s hand one last squeeze for reassurance for both of them before the elevator doors opened and they headed for the east exit. 

Thor led the way out of the doors, then headed to the right, down the sidewalk. Bruce followed, still himself, wanting to minimize the property damage by getting as far as he could before letting out Hulk. 

They moved quickly and carefully through the streets. Clint was in the middle of his teammates, Thor in front of him and Bruce behind. 

_All clear so far,_ Clint informed the others without speaking. _What about on your end?_

“Nothing yet,” came Natasha’s voice. 

“Iron Man, you see anything from up there?” came Steve’s voice this time. 

“Nothing obviously threatening, besides, you know, the general public,” Tony answered. “Anything specific I should be on the lookout for?” 

_This is so weird,_ Bruce thought as he watched the crowds go by, oblivious to what was happening. _Whoops, didn’t mean to say that over the comms._

Clint turned slightly, giving Bruce a small smile before answering Tony. _Going by the two people Widow confirmed are coming, watch out for an impressive motorcycle with a guy in full racing gear riding it…. Razor Fist has the annoying habit of coming out of nowhere. Look out for a guy with a blade for a hand._

_Yikes,_ Bruce thought, then, _Oh, it happened again,_ and then, _What if - is this - AGH - this wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t need to think right now to keep from hulking out. Let me try something geometrical._

Clint turned to give Bruce another fond smile. _No need to apologize, Freckles, I’m certainly enjoying it._

“Would you stop flirting over the comms,” Natasha said, her tone filled with fond exasperation. 

Clint chuckled softly but said nothing. 

_Your mind is indeed a busy place, Banner,_ Thor’s voice came over the comms as he looked back at them placidly. _These devices are quite strange._

“Yeah, wow, there is some interesting shit going on between the software of these mics and the voodoo Thor calls Allspeak,” Tony said. “He doesn’t seem to have your problem, Brucey. During testing -” Tony stopped talking abruptly. “Hang on, you said something about a heavily armed motorcycle?” 

Clint paused. _Red bike? Guy with a black jumpsuit with a red stripe?_ he questioned. 

“Looks right,” Tony replied. “Coming in from the west, guys.” Iron Man fell back a bit, settling at a lower altitude and closer to his half of the team. 

Clint hesitated, obviously not wanting to head in the opposite direction of where his friends would be fighting. 

\- 

“You go help Iron Man; I’ll get him somewhere secure,” Natasha told Steve, grabbing onto Bucks arm just as she would Clint’s, and dragged him away as Steve went west. 

None of them noticed a figure on the rooftop suddenly changing directions and quickly heading in the opposite direction. 

\- 

Bullet Biker was approaching quickly. As soon as he was close enough he pressed a button, locking on to Iron Man, and fired a missile from his bike with a sadistic grin underneath his helmet. 

“Holy -” Tony dodged just in time, then re-oriented, repulsors aimed and shoulder-mounted guns sending a few bullets back in the direction of the enemy. “ _Very_ heavily-armed bike.” 

\- 

Bruce took hold of Clint’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Let’s stick around here for a little bit,” he said. _Someone’s taken the bait; we don’t want to let them know they’re wrong until we have to. But getting farther away isn’t something I’m interested in right now either._

Clint gave Bruce a grateful look before turning in the direction of the ongoing fight. _Careful, between his bike and his suit he has a big enough arsenal to supply a small army._

\- 

The man swerved his bike, spinning around on the back wheel to turn and launch another missile. 

Steve arrived then. _I’ve got him covered; you guys keep moving._

Tony knocked the missile away using his repulsors, then flew in closer, looking for the kind of range where heavy explosives would do more damage to the guy firing than to him. He fired a few more rounds. 

At the new arrival the man spun his bike expertly, pushing a button that had bullets bombarding Steve, who used his shield to avoid being hit. Bullet Biker then raised his arm, directing it in the general area Tony had been, and launched two grenades. 

\- 

“Hawkeye is in position. Safe and sound,” Natasha said out loud in case others were listening. If Clint didn’t see any action, she’d count it as a win. ”Headed to your position.” 

\- 

Clint watched a second longer before turning. _They have things handled_ , he admitted reluctantly. _Let’s keep going._

Bruce nodded, and made himself continue walking. _The armor can take a beating. The armor can take it._

\- 

Iron Man knocked a grenade away with a repulsor. The other one went off in his face. He shook it off. “Not close enough,” he said, and went after Bullet Biker with a vengeance now, to punch him with an iron (or gold-titanium) fist. 

He reacted on instinct when he saw the armor flying toward him. He swerved before driving backwards, continuing to fire bullets at both heroes. 

\- 

Clint reluctantly continued heading south. If Tony managed to get close enough, taking Dillon out would be simple. However, Clint knew Dillon, had seen the impossible things he could do with a bike while they had been in Carson’s Circus; catching him was the hard part. And knowing him, Dillon was enjoying the hell out of this all; he had always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, even when they had been friends. 

_Why is it all my friends end up trying to kill me?_ he asked himself. He realized that had just gone over the comms. _Sorry._

\- 

Tony wobbled a bit when the guy dodged. “Damn, this guy’s fast!” He went after him again, combining the headlong charge with a hail of flares. “Something’s gotta hit eventually!” 

\- 

Bruce felt a flare of anger at Clint’s unwilling comment. _These were friends?_ He teetered on the edge for a moment, feeling Hulk like a boiling heat just under his skin. _Think. Focus. Wait. Sorry. Sorry. More immediate than geometry. Sensory. Spatial. Kinesthetic. Archery._ Everything snapped back into place as Bruce remembered his lessons, his form, that feeling when the target was everything. 

\- 

You couldn’t tell but under his helmet Bullet Biker was having a hell of a good time; the closer the hits got to him, the more thrilled he was. Nothing like a good chase, after all, so long as he won. 

\- 

Clint was about to elaborate on his accidental comment when he saw -or rather heard - Bruce calming down. It made him feel better that his lessons hadn’t gone to total waste. 

_Tony, the key to fighting this guy is -_ but he never got to finish that thought as a blade was pressed to his throat as Razor Fist dropped down from a nearby rooftop. 

“Hey, Will, was wondering when you were going to drop in,” Clint said, flinching slightly when the man dug his hand into Clint’s throat, making the tinnest of scratches. 

The man looked up. “Don’t make a move. I can slit his throat faster than you can throw that hammer,” he turned to Bruce, “or you to turn all green.” 

_help no don’t don’t please help_

Bruce was drowning. His eyes were fixed on the blade at Clint’s throat. No moving, no Hulking out. All he had free was his thoughts. 

_think think Jarvis. Jarvis what has Clint got on him? Anything you can remote access, deploy from the quiver, electric shock or paralytic arrowheads?_

Jarvis didn’t take the time to reply, just hacked the wireless control system of Clint’s quiver, overloading it and giving Razor Fist a jolt. 

\- 

Tony heard Clint’s cut off comment and the terrified litany of Bruce’s mind. “I don’t have time for this,” he snarled. The street was empty enough now. He turned on his cutting laser and, leaping in Bullet Biker’s direction again, swept the beam in an arc, following the bike’s movements and cutting through everything it touched. 

The man tried speeding up but it was no use; the beam caught his bike, sending him flying to the ground. “Son of a bitch. My bike,” the man pouted weakly before a knock to the head knocked him out. 

“Widow is already on her way to Clint; so is Buck,” Steve informed Tony. 

\- 

The man jumped slightly, but it was enough for Clint to have his bow out and trained on the other man. “Come on, William. We can end this now, bring you in, no one gets hurt. What do you say?” 

The man simply glared, eyes darting around like a caged animal who refused to accept that fact. 

“Come on, if I don’t hit you, you can be sure Bruce here will.” Clint knew they had won; Razor fist was good at one on one but in a situation like this he was useless. “How about you tell me where Cross is hiding.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “And why the hell would I do that.” 

“Good question. Bruce, do you have an answer for Will?” 

Bruce had been holding his rage back for too long, and when he loosed it now, it was a rush, a tremendous relief, like the first clean breath after near drowning. That first roar shook the buildings around them right to their foundations. Hulk glared down at the man who had hurt Clint, ready to smash. And Bruce was right there with him. 

Clint raised an eyebrow at Razor Fist. And rolled his eyes when the man decided to run instead of simply giving up. He looked at the Hulk, who again it seemed was holding himself back until Clint gave the word. ”Go ahead, Big Guy,” he said to the Hulk. “Don’t kill him, but make sure he doesn’t run off again.” 

Hulk wrinkled his nose in a snarling grin, then leapt away as if he were spring-loaded. He landed in front of Razor Fist and swept him up in both huge hands, giving at least a little attention to not squashing him outright, but not being particularly gentle, either. 

Thor was hypervigilant in that moment - being the only guard for the priority target and having just been caught off guard, his eyes sought every shadow. He was glad when Hulk returned, tossing Razor Fist to the ground and throwing a huge green hand over the shoulder and arm on the bladed side. 

Somewhere inside Hulk, Bruce was aware enough to note that the guy probably had a couple of broken ribs now. 

Iron Man landed nearby. “SHIELD’s got Evel Knievel and his annoying-as-hell bike contained. The others are on their way.” 

“Good, hopefully one of these guys has an idea of where Cross is,” Clint said before turning to Hulk. “Good job, big guy.” 

“Jarvis, how much information would you need to help pin point Crossfire’s location?” Natasha asked the AI. 

“It is impossible to determine the value of any given data point outside of its context,” the AI replied. 

“Jarvis, Brucey has been teaching you bad habits. Using big words when little ones would work? Not your most user-friendly quirk.” 

“I apologize, sir. I mean that there is no way to know.” 

Hulk growled, impatient. He pounded a fist against the ground, sinking it a foot deep into the pavement and inches from Razor Fist’s head. “Want smash,” he said, looking at Clint. 

Clint put a hand on Hulk’s arm without thinking. “I know, Big Guy, I think we all wanna smash about now.” 

Natasha and Buck walked up, Natasha glaring at the cut on Clint’s neck. She didn’t care how small it was, just that it was there. 

“He likes factories and labs,” Clint said. “Usually the abandoned ones… can you work any magic with that, Jarv?” 

“There are several possibilities in the area,” Jarvis said. “Agent Romanoff, it would help if you were to tell me more about the context in which you learned that Cross was indeed responsible for this.” 

The Hulk sat down with a huffed breath, wearing an enormous disgruntled frown. He leaned towards Clint, sort of nudging his nose up against the archer’s cheek. 

“Word of mouth, mostly,” Natasha admitted. “Descriptions of him, Bobcat admitted to being hired by Cross once he was dealt with.” 

“The bay,” Buck suddenly said. “If you get the arm, you leave it by the harbor and then take a ferry, when you get back the money will be waiting for you…. That’s gotta mean he’s near the water, right?” 

“And you’re only thinking to mention this now?” Natasha snipped. 

“I only just remembered!” he defended. 

“Only just remembered what?” Steve asked as he approached. 

Clint tuned them out; he was surprised by the Hulk’s nuzzling but rolled with it as he randomly tapped out the beat of a song on his arm. 

“Given the incidence of factories close to water in the city, that does not rule out many places,” Jarvis said dryly. “Was there any mention of which ferry?” 

Tony flipped up his faceplate to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. And yep. The Hulk was snuggling up against Clint. His eyebrows migrated up into his hair and he broke into a grin. “Well, that’s definitely a new one. Looks like Hulk’s found himself a cute little snugglebear.” He chuckled. 

Hulk didn’t move his head but he fixed an eye on Tony, giving a threatening snort. 

“The Whitehall ferry,” Buck answered after a moment of thought. 

Clint chuckled. “Don’t pay attention to him, Big Guy, he’s just jealous you never cuddle with him.” 

“That does narrow the field somewhat,” Jarvis said. “There are still three addresses that stand out as likely.” 

Hulk laughed, and the sound was surprisingly soft for how it shook his huge frame. “Metal man not so squishy.” 

Clint laughed. “Well, I’m glad I’m squishy enough for you, I guess,” he said with a smirk. 

“Then we check them all; three is a lot better than how many we’d have to check five minutes ago,” Steve said. 

“Are we splitting up again?” asked Buck “Because that didn’t exactly work out so well last time.” 

“We’re all alive,” Clint pointed out as he pet the Hulk’s hair absently. “I’d say it worked fine.” 

Hulk growled a little at Clint’s words. “Too close,” he said. 

“How about this,” said Phil over the comms. “You all go to one of the addresses, and we’ll put surveillance on the other two. They won’t engage, they’ll just let me know what’s happening and I’ll point you in the right direction.” 

“I knew there was a reason we keep you around,” Clint teased his handler with a smirk. “Sounds like a plan.” 

“While you’re at it, send someone to scrape this guy of the street,” Buck muttered, looking down at Razor Fist, then at the Hulk before not so subtly backing away. 

“There’s a team just around the corner,” Coulson answered. 

Hulk saw Buck’s exaggerated gestures and grinned, not precisely friendly, showing all his teeth to the older archer. 

Buck had never seen a scarier smile; he took another step back. 

Clint stood. “Come on, sooner we deal with Cross the better.” 

Tony nodded. “Just one more piece of prep.” He walked up in front of Hulk. “You still got your comms, buddy?” 

Hulk prodded at his neck, where the corner of the mic was flapping a little. 

“Well, the earpieces are still secure, that’s the important thing,” Tony said, satisfied. “I thought so. I keep telling Bruce, you can only break the laws of physics so much. Instantaneous growth of hyaline cartilage? Nah. Your tragus doesn’t grow all that much.” 

Hulk smiled, the angle of it and the wrinkle of his nose making it fierce, but he didn’t bear his teeth to Tony. 

Tony flipped his face plate down. “Looks like we’re headed south this time,” he said, and launched himself into the air. “You got your spies crawling all over the city already, Agent?” 

“The teams are in place,” Coulson responded. 

“Let’s get going,” Clint said, and began walking. He was ready for this to be over. They were so close to ending all of it, and despite the fact that it hadn’t been very long since it had started, it felt like ages to Clint. 

Hulk was impatient, but kept pace with Clint carefully, smelling the air as they walked. Thor was still feeling the sting of failure that the man in his charge had lost blood, however little. Phil was busy coordinating the teams of agents on reconnaissance as well as those coming back from retrievals. It would have been a quiet and solemn walk if it weren’t for Tony. 

“You’re all slowpokes. I bet I could go in and take care of this guy before you even made it all the way there.” 

Natasha and Steve rolled their eyes. Buck laughed loudly. 

Clint chuckled. “By all means go ahead, save us the time.” 

“He has a point,” Steve admitted. “Since when do we _walk_ to fight?” 

“The distance is a little short for one of the jets,” Phil said, “but I think I could manage to scare up a helicopter. My priorities have been elsewhere.” 

“Thank you for the offer, Agent Coulson, but that’s not what I meant,” Steve said. “I just meant Tony has a point.” 

“Great, feed his ego, just what he needs,” Clint muttered, smirking. 

Steve gave a small smile. “If we really want this over with we should pick up the pace.” 

“Want ride?” Hulk asked, holding out one hand to Clint and one to Natasha. 

Clint smiled and quickly got in Hulk’s hand. 

Natasha, on the other hand, hesitated slightly; it had never been a secret that she was not exactly comfortable with Hulk. But the Hulk hadn’t been aggressive since Razor Fist was dealt with…. With a deep breath she stepped in the hand. 

The Hulk lifted Clint and placed him carefully so that he was seated on one shoulder, then did the same with Natasha on the other. Then he strode forward, leaving the other pedestrians to catch up. 

“Well, that works,” Tony said thoughtfully. “I’m usually the designated archer-carrier of the team. I guess we’ve still got one in need of a lift?” 

Buck looked up at Iron Man. “If you’re offering, I’m definitely taking you up on it.” 

\- 

“You have to admit, Tasha, this is definitely one of the coolest things we’ve done,” Clint said with a grin, absently petting the Hulk’s hair once again. 

“You’re a child,” Natasha deadpanned, but the small smirk on her face gave her away. 

Tony lifted the older archer into the air and flew forward, leading the way. Hulk glanced back to see if Steve was keeping up. 

Steve was running behind the group, keeping up just fine. 

Clint let himself get lost in thought. If these new earpieces held up, and depending on if Cross had any lackeys beyond what he sent after Clint so far… chances were it’d be over quickly. The Avengers had taken down an entire alien army, after all; comparatively this was nothing…. But things could still go wrong. Clint knew better than assume victory because that’s when you ended up losing. 

“You’re coming up on the first location,” Coulson said in their ears. “No activity yet at any of the three.” 

Tony landed, setting Buck down and popping his faceplate. “Any ideas on the approach strategy?” 

Hulk followed Tony’s example, setting down his passengers - first Natasha and then Clint, giving the latter an affectionate nudge once he was back on his feet. 

“I was thinking me and two others go in, check the place out. The rest of you create a perimeter around the place so if anyone besides is in there, they won’t be getting out,” Clint said. He’d thought the plan out the entire walk there. It was a sound tactic. 

Hulk stepped up beside Clint, making it clear that he intended to follow. Thor moved to do so as well. “I will not be made helpless so easily a second time,” he said. “I would join you, if you would have me.” 

“I’ll take the air,” Tony said. “How about you, I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-Hawkeye? See a vantage you like?” 

Buck laughed at the nickname. “You are definitely my favorite,” he said before pointing to a building. “Up there is good.” 

Natasha hesitated, obviously wanting to go with Clint, but she knew he was going in with the best options. “I’ll take the south side of the building.” 

“Then I’ll take North,” said Steve. 

“That works,” said Tony, lifting Buck into position before settling himself to hover over the building and slightly to the west. 

Clint walked toward the door with a single minded determination. “Thor, I think you should go in first,” he said, his bow at the ready. 

Thor nodded and strode forward. He opened the door without apparent effort, though, from the creaking noise it made, it had been locked. He hefted his hammer and walked inside, looking around. 

The building was rather large but Clint knew right away they had their hideout, no real searching required. “See those cables?” he said, nodding towards a few of many. ”There’s an awful lot considering this place is abandoned.” 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed over the comms. “Leave a place alone long enough, anything with scrap value disappears.” 

Thor walked carefully farther into the space, eyes scanning for a foe. The Hulk entered after Clint, sniffing the air with narrowed eyes but sticking close to the archer. 

Clint went in the direction a majority of cords were heading, hearing a faint hum that got stronger the more he followed. “I think we definitely found someone,” he muttered. 

“Agent Barton, I am detecting increasing levels of infrasound,” Jarvis said in the comms. “Although they are more harmful to the body directly than to the ear, it might be time to consider switching to silent running.” 

Tony grunted unhappily. “What kinda hertz we talking about here?” 

“Between eighteen and nineteen, Sir. Not, thankfully, one of the more lethal frequencies, but it will have an effect on brainwaves at higher decibels.” 

_Whatever you say, Jarvis,_ Clint responded silently, following the humming now rather than simply the cords. 

“Engaging noise cancellation. Agent Barton, I am switching your auditory input to synthesized voice only.” 

Thor, walking beside Clint, noticed the change, and it was odd. He couldn’t hear anything except the team’s voices, but he could still feel the vibrations coming from deeper within the building. Hulk frowned anxiously, sticking as close to Clint as he could. He didn’t like this place. 

Clint followed the vibrations, his body tense. He didn’t like this; too many things could go wrong, too many unknowns, it was- Clint paused, looking around. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t like him. _Whatever Cross has up his sleeve I don’t think we need to hear it to be affected,_ he informed the team. 

“Shit, yeah, with infrasound you wouldn’t,” said Tony. “At least the earpieces should block out anything he’s layering on top of it.” 

“Just keep in contact, tell us how you’re feeling,” Coulson ordered. “We need to be aware of your state of mind.” 

_I feel as if I am surrounded by enemies, but I see no one,_ Thor said, turning to look around him. 

Hulk jumped at the motion, roaring and flattening a nearby piece of machinery. 

_It’s all right, Big Guy,_ Clint soothed, looking around. _I’m nervous, doubting second guessing everything…. Whatever this is, we’re all ridiculously on edge in here._

The Hulk huffed, looking suspiciously into the corners, but for the moment didn’t smash anything else. 

“The effects usually intensify with exposure,” Tony said. “You should probably get your paranoid butts in gear.” 

_You mean this is going to get **worse**?_ Clint gritted his teeth. _That’s just great._

He took a breath, trying to decrease his sudden anxiety. 

Thor forged onward, hunting for something to fight. He was about ready to take a page from the Hulk’s playbook and just start bringing down the entire building. _I will go mad if this takes much longer,_ he told the others, curling his fingers around the handle of Mjolnir. _Give me something to fight!_

Hulk turned at a shadow again, fists slamming into the floor, breaking some of the cables strewn across it. 

Clint jumped at the noise and immediately scolded himself. _Get a grip, Barton_ , he told himself. It had been forever since a sudden noise made him jump. 

“Maybe we should get in there,” came Steve’s voice. 

_No. All that will accomplish is making you guys like this,_ Clint responded, edging towards an open space with multiple machines. And in the middle of it all, with a smug grin on his face: Cross. 

Thor saw the man and immediately threw Mjolnir at him. 

Cross went behind one of the machines, the hammer hitting that instead and going through to a few other machines. 

It didn’t necessarily make things better; if anything, Clint felt worse. 

Cross poked his head out, fiddling with one of the machines. ‘Why so tense?’ Clint read his lips before firing an arrow, not even taking the time to line up his shot. 

Cross laughed when the arrow missed; it wasn’t surprising that it had, considering that Clint’s hands were shaking. 

_Get a grip. Come on. **Stop shaking**_ , Clint told himself over and over. 

“Good, Clint, you can do this,” Coulson said over the comms. “Everything’s going pretty smoothly, actually. Relax and shoot, or get out if you have to.” 

Hulk was very, very angry. He made his way towards the man Clint was shooting at, smashing everything that was in his way. 

Cross’s grin vanished as the Hulk came raging forward; he began running. 

Clint felt himself calm, whether from Phil’s words or the fact that Hulk was destroying the equipment or a combination didn’t matter. 

He was still too tense, however; he tried to picture things to calm him down. His bow, Coulson, Tasha, the team. Bruce. Bruce’s smile, the way he fiddled with his hands. His lips. Bruce. 

With a steady hand, Clint let loose an arrow right into the back of Cross’s knee and then another arrow to his other knee making the man fall down, Hulk right behind him. 

Thor had reclaimed Mjolnir and was decimating the remaining equipment with it. Hulk loomed over Cross, huge fists on either side of him, and roared, loud and deep enough to make the air shake again. 

“How are things going in there?” Tony said through the comms. 

_Cross is down, Thor is taking care of the equipment,_ Clint informed, his relief obvious. 

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Buck said 

“That’s what happens when you go in prepared,” Phil said. 

“The sonic signals appear to have stopped,” Jarvis said. “I am lifting sonic isolation measures.” 

Thor, having crushed the equipment into satisfactorily tiny pieces, set Mjolnir down and shook himself out, rolling his shoulders and making his hair ripple like a lion’s mane. 

The Hulk, one huge hand placed over Cross, watched Clint carefully. 

“One of these days you’ll stop getting lucky, Barton,” the man spat, a demented grin on his face. “And I’ll be there to put a bullet in your heart.” 

Hulk growled, low and threatening, bearing his teeth and hunching down, putting his nose an inch from Cross’s. 

Cross shrunk back from the beast as if trying to go through the floor. 

Clint smirked. “I’d be careful who you make that kind of threats in front of,” he said in mock concern. He patted Hulk on the arm. “It’s alright, pal, that day’s not coming anytime soon.” 

“A team is moving in to pick up Cross,” Phil said. 

“Oh good,” Tony said, sighing and settling to the ground. “Some of you might be feeling like there wasn’t enough excitement today, but I’ve still got bullet holes from that biker guy. I am _done_.” 

“I say we take the week off,” said Clint. “We’ve earned it.” 

“Agreed,” came Buck’s voice. 

“You didn’t even do anything,” Natasha pointed out, exasperation clear in her voice. 

“I spend all day performing cheap trick shots for hyperactive kids and exhausted parents; I did plenty, sweetheart.” 

Clint could practically feel Tasha’s glare through the comms. 

Hulk backed off from Cross when the agents came up, seeing that Clint wasn’t worried by their presence. He sighed, long and tired, and sat down, beginning to change back. 

“You know we never get a choice about when the world needs saving,” Coulson said. “But I’ll try not to call you for anything less than apocalyptic.” 

“That’d be appreciated,” Clint said with a smile. He saw that Bruce was changing an began heading to the other man’s side. “Anyone have a blanket or a large jacket?” he asked the agents. 

Someone fished a blanket out of the emergency kit in their car, and handed it to Bruce, who nodded gratefully. He looked around, seeing a lot of destruction, but nothing that looked like it had been particularly important, and best of all, there was Clint, looking whole and well and more relaxed than he had in days. “Hey,” he said. “What happened? Everyone OK?” 

Clint smiled. “We won, Doc; it’s over.” He held the man’s hand. “Good to have you back.” 

Bruce closed his eyes, letting himself sag a little bit in relief. He held on to Clint’s hand, running his thumb over the archer’s fingers. “Time to go home, then,” he said. 

Clint nodded. “Sounds good to me. On the way back I can tell you all about Hulk cuddling with me,” he said with a grin 

Bruce raised his eyebrows as they walked towards the door. “He _what_?” 

Clint laughed. “While we were tracking this place down he was snuggling with me.” He shrugged. ”I’m squishy, apparently.” 

A laugh escaped Bruce, his eyes still wide. “Wait, wait. Let me try and remember. I think there’s more context there.” He frowned thoughtfully. “You’re squishier than someone else? I don’t know, it still doesn’t make sense.” 

Clint laughed, nodding. “Squishier than Metal Man, yeah.” 

“Oh… Hulk’s only ever seen Tony while he’s in the suit. Not very squishable, I guess.” He sank gratefully into the back seat of a waiting SHIELD car. 

Bruce bit his lip thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t usually remember something like that. There’s definitely been something different about the transformation.” 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, but thats a good thing, right?” He looked over and saw Buck standing to the side awkwardly, the same look in his eyes as before; the only difference was that Clint was ready now. He turned back to Bruce. “Give me a minute?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Bruce said, squeezing Clint’s hand again before letting it go and settling deeper into his seat. 

Clint walked up to Buck. “I wanted to thank you.” 

Buck shook his head. “You guys could’ve handled it without me.” 

Clint nodded. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.” 

“It was the least I could do. After all, I did try to kill you that one time.” He gave a sheepish grin. 

\- 

A minute or so after Clint went to talk to Buck, Natasha approached the car Bruce was in. “Doctor Banner, can I have a word?” 

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Bruce said, rubbing at his face tiredly. “What about?” 

\- 

“I heard about Barney,” Buck said. “I’m sorry.” 

Clint nodded. “Thanks, but you had nothing to do with it.” 

“Still… I’m sorry for everything. The two of you…. If I hadn’t done some of the stuff that I did… if I hadn’t dragged you along with me, maybe you could have had more time with him.” 

\- 

Natasha looked over at where Clint and Buck were talking, then back at Bruce. “I owe you an apology.” 

Bruce frowned, his hands coming together to fidget restlessly against each other. “I, uh… I don’t know what for.” 

\- 

“You didn’t force me into anything, Buck,” Clint reminded him. 

“No, but I didn’t exactly help matters either; I’m the one who brought you on your first job, after all.” 

“And I decided to keep taking those sorts of jobs on my own,” Clint said. “And I did a lot worse than robberies. Besides, I ended up alright.” 

\- 

“Ever since this thing between you and Clint started I’ve been mulling over what to say to you. I wanted to know what you were thinking. Clint’s an idiot, especially with things like this, but I couldn’t understand why you would go through with it. I didn’t trust you; I thought this would all end with Clint hurt. Whether it be physically from the Hulk or emotionally when you came to your senses and put an end to it.” She sighed. “Today I saw that I was wrong about… a lot of things. And for that I apologize.” 

“No, it’s… I’ve thought a lot of those things too.” Bruce put a hand up to rub at his eyes and the bridge of his nose. “You’ve certainly got reason to distrust me. _I_ don’t trust me.” A thoughtful look came into his eyes. “At least… I never have before.” 

\- 

“Yeah I suppose you did,” Buck said, looking around. “Hell of a team you got here, kid.” 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I’m lucky to have them.” 

“There’s no such thing as a lucky shot,” Buck said, sounding exactly as he had when Clint was younger. “You earned this, kid; god knows you sure as hell deserve it.” 

\- 

Natasha considered him for a moment. “Clint doesn’t do relationships much - with our line of work it’s not an easy thing to maintain… but sometimes you meet someone and it can’t be helped. For Clint, those people he bends the rules for end up being the worst for him. People who leave, people who betray him, people who can’t return his affection.” She looked slightly guilty at that last example. “And until today I was sure you fit the bill. But the way the Hulk was with Clint today…. You care about him so much your feelings about him bled through to the Hulk. This conversation was originally going to end with me telling you to end it before someone got hurt. Now I’m telling you to take care of him. You understand?” 

Bruce closed his eyes, screwing them shut on a tiny bit of a prickle that was trying to escape, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m going to try,” he said. “There isn’t anything I want more than that. I don’t….” He lifted a hand, resting the knuckles across his mouth for a moment. “I _never_ let anyone mean this much to me. But Clint… he fought his way in, and now….” He blinked a little. “You know, I never had anything that made me think that living was worth the risks? I didn’t really like the idea of fighting to defend myself.” A painful-sounding giggle escaped him. “The Hulk and I didn’t really agree on that.” He took a steadying breath, then looked up to meet Natasha’s eyes. “But this? I’ll fight to defend this. I’ll fight for Clint.” 

\- 

“You don’t have to leave right away,” Clint offered. “You could stay around, we could meet up and I could kick your ass at target practice.” Clint gave a grin that his old mentor returned. 

“Nah, kid, I think it’s best if I leave.” 

\- 

Natasha nodded. “He deserves someone who would. And… you deserve someone like him.” She looked over at where Clint and Buck were now shaking hands. 

“I don’t,” Bruce said, almost reflexively. Then he smiled a little, looking at Clint. “Well, I don’t know what deserving really means, anyway. It’s a subjective and meaningless metric based on some abstract idea of how things should be. Things are never that way. We all just need to work with what we have. And for what it’s worth, he has me.” 

\- 

“I’m not going to see you again anytime soon, am I?” 

Buck shook his head. “Not unless you plan on having hits placed on you often.” the two Archers chuckled. “You have a new life now, kid; I’m not apart of it anymore.” He extended his hand. 

Clint shook it. “You have a good one, Buck.” 

\- 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad he does,” Natasha said. She began walking away. “If you do end up hurting him, Hulk or no Hulk, I’ll hurt you. Just so we’re clear on that.” 

Bruce bit his lip. “If I do… I’ll wish you luck with that. I really will. I’ll hope you find a way to kill me.” 

She nodded. “I hope it never comes to that,” she said before walking away. 

\- 

“You too, kid,” Buck said before turning around. “Anyone here that can give me a lift home?” he asked the agents darting around the place. 

Clint chuckled before turning and heading back to Bruce, Nat walking away from him just before he reached them. He smiled, sliding in the car next to him. “What was that about?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction Natasha had gone, sliding his arm around Bruce easily. 

Bruce sighed comfortably, settling himself into Clint’s side. “Just making sure of some things,” he said. 

Clint raised an eyebrow at the vague statement but didn’t ask anything further. 

A mix of adrenaline and relief was still flooding through him; he wanted nothing more than to pull Bruce close and kiss him till neither of them could breathe - an urge that wasn’t helped by the fact that Bruce was pressed up against him in only a towel. 

Now wasn’t the best time for it, what with the complete lack of privacy and Bruce’s obvious exhaustion. So he settled for giving the scientist a slow soft kiss. 

Bruce could feel the heat underlying the kiss as Clint’s lips were pressed gently to his. But it wasn’t demanding, it was… comfortable, and promising, and right now that was exactly what Bruce needed. He let himself melt into it just for a moment, then drew back, thoughts whirring again, still a little slow with how tired he was. 

“What about you?” he asked Clint. “How is… everything? A lot happened, I guess. Don’t know how much I missed.” 

Clint held Bruce close, his fingers running through the other man’s hair. “It was actually pretty easy once we figured where Cross was. We didn’t need to hear the device to be affected, though; it was infered I think is what Tony said. So here I am this nervous wreck with the Hulk and Thor all trigger happy.” He smiled a bit. “Once Thor and Hulk started smashing machines it was better.” 

“Oh, infrasound. Yikes.” Bruce smiled a little, fighting off a yawn. “Glad Hulk could be of service.” 

Clint smiled fondly. “Get some rest, Doc, you’ve earned it.” 

Bruce, despite the awkwardness of being half-naked and in a car surrounded by the bustle of government agents, felt comfortable enough with his head on Clint’s shoulder to let go of it all and drift off to sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Clint smiled and kept still, continuing to run his fingers through Bruce's hair until an agent finally got in and drove them back to the tower, the other Avengers either flying or getting their own rides. 

When they arrived, he nudged Bruce. “Freckles, we’re home,” he said softly. 

Bruce managed not to jump too badly this time; he’d known he was going to wake up somewhere else, and Clint sounded and smelled familiar. He gasped a little, then settled again, smiling. “All right,” he said muzzily. “Give me a second.” 

Clint chuckled. “Take all the time you need, Doc,” he said, giving the man a peck on the cheek. 

“I might just sit here for a while, except I could really use some food,” Bruce said, hunching forward and rubbing at his eyes. “Oof. All right.” He slid his way out of the car and into the daylight, blinking. 

“I know what you mean, I feel like I could pass out for days,” he said, close behind Bruce, his arm slipping around his waist once they entered the elevator. 

Bruce smiled, lazy and content, and wrapped an arm around Clint in turn, rubbing a bit absently at the archer’s side but mindful of the cuts he had stitched and bandaged earlier that day. God, had that been today? “I feel like it’s _been_ days since the last time I ate or slept properly.” 

“I know what you mean. It feels like this has been going on for weeks rather than only a few days.” Clint let our a yawn, resting his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m just glad that everyone’s okay.” 

Bruce hummed in agreement, pulling Clint just a bit closer, before the elevator doors opened to let them out. There were voices drifting in from the common area, and Bruce wasn’t in any particular hurry to start moving. 

Clint pulled Bruce in, burying his face in his neck, a position he wasn’t too keen on moving from. “Fair warning, if we don’t start moving soon, it’ll be me falling asleep on you this time around.” 

“Mmmm.” Bruce wrapped his arms around Clint, savoring the closeness for a moment. “Not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I do need food.” He took a deep breath, drawing in oxygen to jump-start his brain. “All right, let’s go.” He began to move, but didn’t let go of Clint, making it into a sort of awkward shuffle. 

“I should probably eat too,” Clint mumbled into his neck, picking up the shuffle easily enough. “Really don’t want to, though.” 

“No? Anything you would want to eat if it was here?” Bruce asked, unwinding one arm and shifting so that they were both facing more or less the same direction. He fished some fried rice out of the refrigerator with his newly freed hand. 

Clint shrugged. “I don’t think any food is going to look more appealing than a pillow, or your shoulder in this case, right now.” he said with a tired chuckle. “I’ll have some lo mein if there’s any left, I guess.” 

Bruce nodded, grabbing a second container, and set about heating up the food. 

Tony came in then. “I come bearing solvents!” he said, with far too much energy. He raised his hands defensively at the bleary look he received. “Hey, I’m just here to get my tech back. Then I’ll let you get back to whatever.” He held alcohol, acetone, and swabs. 

“Leave it,” Bruce said after a moment’s contemplation. 

Tony’s face scrunched thoughtfully. “No, see, I don’t trust you not to fall asleep with your earpieces in.” 

Bruce looked skeptically at Tony as he reached over to take the alcohol and a swab. “Fine,” he told Tony. He started removing Clint’s mic. 

Clint sighed, stepping away slightly to make it easier for Bruce, making himself wake up a bit. “Your suit okay?” he asked Tony “Dillon didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?” 

Tony waved a hand. “It’s not a real fight if I don’t have to replace a few parts afterwards. No such thing as permanent damage.” He grabbed one of the fancy juice things out of the fridge and began drinking it. 

Bruce finished with Clint’s mic, rubbing off the last of the spirit gum before getting out the acetone to remove his own hardware. “I don’t know where my mic went,” he noted, “but these stayed in pretty well.” He tugged at one of the earpieces. 

“What did I tell you,” Tony said pointedly. “Growth rate of cartilage.” 

Clint got a soda from the fridge; now that the adrenaline was gone, and he had snapped himself out of his haze, the pain in his shoulder was making itself known. Bruce had been right when he had said he shouldn’t be shooting with it. It felt ten times worse than earlier. 

Bruce finished with his earpieces, handing them to Tony, who, thankfully, left promptly and without comment other than a wink. Bruce rolled his eyes in return. He rinsed his hands, then got their food and set it on the table. 

He turned worried eyes on Clint, who was moving stiffly. “How’s your shoulder?” he asked. “How much shooting did you do?” 

“Not too much,” he said. “Though I did let a few loose with an unsteady hand and that’s never good, previous injury or no.” 

Bruce frowned, making a sympathetic noise. He stood in indecision for a moment, then sat down to eat. “After I’ve fueled up, I’ll take a look at it.” 

Clint sat next to him. “You don’t need to, I’ve had worse,” he insisted; that seemed to be something he told Bruce a lot. “Short of anything apocalyptic Phil promised me a week off, should be more than enough time for it to heal.” 

Bruce nudged the lo mein in his direction, shaking his head. “I’d still like to make sure it’s not more serious.” He began to eat efficiently, but couldn’t help glancing over at Clint often. 

Clint spent more time poking at his food than actually eating it. He’d poke, take a few bites, poke, look at Bruce, take another bite. Sometimes he’d catch Bruce looking as well and gave him a small smile before returning to his food. 

Bruce finished his food, then slumped onto his elbows. Very soon he wasn’t going to be good for much. “All right,” he said, pushing himself up. “Let me see.” 

Clint considered protesting, Bruce looked exhausted, but he knew that the other man would insist. So he took off his shirt, slowly and stiffly but only with a minor twinge. 

Bruce just looked at the bruising, at first. There were bruises on top of bruises. He gritted his teeth. He started with the arm and neck, all the surrounding muscles that hadn’t been injured before, to see if the extra strain had gotten to them. He didn’t prod where he knew the damage was worst, just gently checked the range of motion. 

Clint hissed before his arm was fully up; the pain started sooner and seemed more intense than earlier, if only by a bit. 

“That looks pretty bad,” Bruce said. “Ibuprofen and ice. I’ll get them.” He went to the freezer. 

“How bad is bad?” Clint asked. “Anything serious?” 

“Probably not,” said Bruce. “It’s hard to tell with shoulder injuries before they start healing - basically they get better fine, or they don’t. But to make sure it does, you should ice this twice a day for the rest of the week, and maybe get an x-ray tomorrow just to be safe.” He handed Clint two Advil, and laid a couple of ice packs on his shoulder, wrapped in dish towels. 

“You got it, Doc,” Clint said with a small smile. ”How long should I leave this ice on before I can go pass out?” 

“Twenty minutes,” he said, sitting back down beside Clint. He bit his lip. “I know I should go get some sleep too, but… I don’t know if I can stand to let you out of my sight right now,” he confessed. 

Clint smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Bruce’s lips. “I know what you mean. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask if I could sleep with you tonight without it sounding like a terrible come on,” he said with a smirk. 

Bruce felt very warm. He was probably blushing, he thought, but it was more than that. “Yeah, I, uh… I’d like that. Just sleeping. Having you there.” 

Clint smiled. “Good; to be honest I don’t know how well I would have slept. Even though it’s over for now…. I feel better when you’re with me,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, smiling in return. He blinked tiredly. “Well, we could go get ready while the ice does its work. Brushing teeth and stuff.” 

Clint stood up. “Sounds good; you probably want to get more than that towel on too, huh?” he said with a smirk. “I’ll stop by my room, get some stuff and then I’ll head down to your floor?” 

Bruce conjured a little, secretive, awkward smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll see you there.” He stood up as well, clearing away their food. 

Clint smiled before heading to the elevator, pressing his floor as he made a mental checklist of what to bring. 

Bruce finished cleaning up and then headed to his room. He brushed his teeth, then took a very quick shower, the kind he’d learned to take in areas where clean water was scarce. He put on pajamas, then looked around at his room. Thankfully, there wasn’t much stuff to be in the wrong places. Just a scattering of books and papers. Bruce decided he was too tired to do anything about that. 

Clint arrived at his floor and headed to the bathroom; he took the ice off long enough to take a quick shower, before brushing his teeth. He headed to his room and put on boxers, and a pair of comfortable loose fitting sweatpants. He grabbed his hearing aid container and batteries just in case before heading to Bruce’s floor. 

When Clint arrived, Bruce was standing half in the hallway, hands worrying at each other, and he’d been nervous enough to retreat into thought, so he’d fallen into a consideration of the possible ways to shield against infrasound. There wasn’t much; the stuff was pervasive. 

He looked up and saw Clint, and he smiled, losing half his nervousness. “Hey,” he greeted. 

“Hey,” Clint said, leaning forward to give him a small peck on the lips, before setting down his case on a dresser. “Nice room, hell of a lot cleaner than mine.” 

Bruce chuckled. “I, uh. Yeah. I don’t usually have a lot of things. This is as messy as it gets, without, you know, unplanned demolition being involved.” He pulled back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, no matter how much stuff I have my room always manages to look like a teenage boy’s room.” He chuckled as he started taking out his hearing aids. “If you say anything just make sure I’m looking at you.” 

Bruce chewed on his lower lip as he nodded. “I’m going to be really self-conscious about talking now,” he said with a twist of a smile. 

Clint chuckled. “Why? Because I’ll be staring at your lips? No different than usual, Doc,” he said with a wink. He finished cleaning them and put them in their case before going to sit on the other side of the bed. 

Bruce smiled. “Uh, no, just my usual thinking too hard about it. Like when I had the electrodes on.” He thought some more as he lay down. “Hmm, do you know Morse code?” 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, we could do that or sign language, whichever you prefer.” 

“I don’t know much ASL yet,” he said. “Besides, kind of hard to use in the dark, isn’t it?” 

Clint nodded’ “Just throwing out options,” he said with a smile as he laid down. 

Bruce reached out and took Clint’s hand in both of his. Immediately he felt himself relax, eyes drooping and drifting into sleep. “Jarvis, lights,” he said, and the lights faded out. 

Clint smiled sleepily as he slid close to Bruce, already feeling himself giving into sleep. 

Bruce stayed awake just long enough to tap a pattern into Clint’s hand, 
    
    
    – – ·   – – –   – – –   – · ·       – ·   · ·   – – ·   · · · ·   –

(good night), before he drifted off.

Clint smiled, completely relaxed for the first time in days, and let himself drift to sleep. 

\- 

The third time Bruce woke up next to Clint, it was slowly and comfortably, and with a feeling that everything was as it should be. He’d rolled onto his back at some point, but Clint’s hand was still tucked up against his neck, and as he blinked lazily at the ceiling, he moved his own hand to meet it again. 

Clint was in between being asleep and waking up. He dimly registered that a hand was on his and he was next to someone; he snuggled in closer to the warmth. It then dawned on him that it was Bruce, which only served to make him move closer. 

Bruce smiled at the motion, wrapping his hand a little tighter around Clint’s. He realized there would be little point in speaking, since Clint’s eyes were still closed and his aids lay on the bedside, and there was nothing he wanted to say anyway besides what was being said by the closeness and the way they were relaxed with each other. 

Clint just stayed in that position for a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. “Morning,” he said, his voice still hoarse from sleep. He gave him a soft kiss before putting his head down on Bruce’s chest. 

Bruce hummed in reply, making his chest vibrate, and one hand tapped out 
    
    
    · · · ·   ·   – · – –

(hey) on the back of Clint’s hand, while the other scrabbled in Clint’s hair.

Clint smiled, enjoying the feel of Bruce’s hand. “I vote for leaving this bed as little as possible today. What about you?” 

“Hmmm,” Bruce hummed again as he thought. He tapped 
    
    
    –   · · · ·   · –   –       · – –   – – –   · – ·   – · –   · · ·

(that works).

Clint smiled. “Awesome,” he said before lifting his head and giving him a slow kiss. 

Bruce relaxed into the kiss, still moving his fingertips through Clint’s hair, and his other hand skimmed down Clint’s wrist and forearm, then back to entangle their hands. 

Clint smiled into the kiss, moving the hand that was not entwined with Bruce’s to rest lightly on his hip. 

Bruce squeezed Clint’s hand, then pulled back until he knew Clint could see him properly. “We should… uh, there are some things we should talk over.” 

Clint nodded. “All right, that doesn’t sound ominious,” he said with a smirk. ”One sec.” He reached over and got his hearing aids and slipped them in his ear.s “Okay, shoot.” 

“I, uh… I really do want to make this work. And, I mean, there are a lot of chances I’m willing to take for it. It’s just… well, it’s been a long time since I was in a bed with anyone else.” 

Clint nodded. “All right, I’m fine with that. I mean if all you want is to share a bed, then we’ll just share a bed. If you want to do more, believe me I’m on board with that,” he said with a smirk and a wink. He shrugged. “I just like being with you.” 

Bruce let out a harsh breath. “I think I needed to hear that,” he said, reaching for Clint’s hand again. “Thank you. But I think if I had you here, so close to me, and never let myself try… well, I don’t think I could handle that.” 

“All right.” He grinned. “Like I said, definitely on board with that.” He leaned foward, pressing a short kiss to Bruce’s lips. 

Bruce smiled. “Good. I just needed to talk it out, you know? I need to know you’re listening, and being careful, because I don’t know how this is going to work.” 

He nodded. “If you tell me something, consider it done,” he promised. “We take it at your pace.” 

Bruce put a hand up to Clint’s face; he was smiling, but he felt like he was already going to fall apart. He couldn’t move or speak for a moment as he contemplated the enormity of what he could lose, or what he could gain. 

Clint smiled and leaned forward. “If it’s too much, just say the word,” he said before leaning in to give him a deep, firm kiss. He wanted this to work more than he’d wanted anything for a while. 

Bruce felt like he’d been jolted with electricity, from the promise that the kiss held. It was the smoke that gave evidence to a fire. Bruce let it burn him for a moment, and then very carefully turned his attention from the potential to the concrete. Clint’s mouth on his, the motion and pressure, the beautiful wetness of his tongue; the sensations in his fingertips as they explored Clint’s neck, jaw, ear and hair, eventually pulling him closer by the barest amount; the solidity and warmth of the other man’s torso against his. 

Clint was lost in the sensation, in Bruce, the feel of his lips and hands, the strong but gentle way he pulled him forward. Clint had one hand in Bruce’s hair, the other on his hip absently rubbing the skin there. 

Bruce slipped his hands around Clint’s form, and pulled him closer; he imagined he could feel them melting together as his hands pressed into Clint’s back and he sucked gently on Clint’s tongue. He wanted to be closer than physically possible; he wanted to occupy the same space. 

They were already impossibly close but that didn’t stop Clint from wanting to be closer. His hand was roaming Bruce’s back, every now and then he tried to pull him closer despite there being no space between them to close. 

Bruce withdrew a little, sweet and slow, savoring every contact, until finally he pulled his lips away from Clint’s just long enough to pull off his shirt. He gasped as Clint’s skin met his again, a long line of skin from chest to waist, and every moment he was almost overwhelmed, but wanted more, closer, tighter. And they were so close to each other, but there was so much more that could happen, so much uncertainty, and Bruce again had to stop himself from thinking of that and focus on something else, so he stayed with his arms wrapped tightly around Clint’s body, but began to examine Clint’s skin with the eyes of a doctor, letting data sit side by side with desire while he acclimated. 

Clint let his hands explore the newly exposed skin; he touched everywhere. Light touches, teasing touches, firm touches, all of them at every spot, learning his body. Memorizing it. Paying attention to what made Bruce gasp, or his breathing pick up. 

Bruce wanted to kiss every part of Clint, but he knew he couldn’t, and that actually helped him keep balanced as he moved his hands and mouth over Clint’s body - neck, not shoulder, back is fine, careful of the stitches on the ribs and healing cuts on the arms. Bruce kissed Clint’s ear and jaw for a while, his nose brushing against short hair, then he took one of the archer’s hands, running fingers along the soft skin at the inside of the wrist and kissing his knuckles, softly at first, then with teeth and tongue. 

Clint let out a small moan at the sensation. He leant down and began kissing his neck, he let himself nip at the skin lightly, the hand not occupied by Bruce’s mouth was moving down his back, nails digging in slightly. 

Bruce inhaled raggedly, then let himself relax and enjoy the feel of Clint’s mouth on his neck. He split his focus between that area and Clint’s hand, where he was running his fingers over every inch of skin, the back, the calloused palm, the capable fingers, and down across the wrist. 

Clint took his hand from Bruce’s mouth and put it on his neck, pulling him forward to give a slightly desperate kiss, his hand on his back had moved down to above the waist band of his pants. “Bruce,” he muttered against his lips, giving him another kiss before continuing to speak. ”Can I?” 

Bruce looked at Clint’s eyes, needy but determined, waiting on his word. He took a breath, then nodded slightly. 

Clint smiled, giving Bruce another kiss, beginning to take off the pants slowly, never even pausing in the kiss. 

Bruce shivered as the fabric was dragged over his sensitive flesh. He focused on the kiss, his hands resting against Clint’s sides, his fingers digging into the muscular back a little harder than he intended. 

Clint let out a ragged moan at the sensation of the fingers digging into his skin as he finished taking Bruce's pants off. He smiled again before beginning to kiss his way down Bruce’s body, making strategic stops along the way. 

Bruce tried to keep his breathing even, in defiance of all that he was feeling, the heat and all the little touches, and all they represented, the enormity, the danger. It was getting to the point where he couldn’t avoid the fact of what he was about to do by distracting himself with other, more immediate things, because there wasn’t much that was more immediate. One of his hands was on Clint’s neck, the other grasped his good shoulder, and he breathed through it, reminding himself that he trusted Clint. 

Clint hesitated when he got to Bruce’s hips and looked up at Bruce. He cupped his face and gave him a brief feather light kiss. “Okay, Doc?” 

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Clint again, biting his lip and stroking Clint’s neck with his thumb. “I….” he began breathily. “Yes. Much as I’m going to be.” He pulled Clint into another quick kiss. “I trust you.” 

Clint smiled widely at that. “Right back at ya,” he muttered, giving him a lengthy kiss before returning to Bruce’s hips, kissing and biting softly as he steadily moved lower. 

Bruce split his attention between the sensations sparking fire in his abdomen, and the prickle of short hairs under the hand that was still on Clint’s neck. He had a number in reserve, just in case, he reminded himself. He breathed, quick but even. 

Clint continued to kiss his way down till he reached his destination. He looked up at Bruce to make sure this was still okay before taking him in his mouth. 

Bruce gasped so loudly and suddenly that it was nearly a yelp, then let out the breath in several jerky, uneven huffs. He gripped Clint’s good shoulder tightly. “God,” he said in a strained voice, like it was being pulled out of him. “Clint.” His swallowed breaths were almost sobs, but he made sure Clint knew it was good (perfect, incredible) by rubbing at his neck and up into his hair. 

Clint moved down, taking more of Bruce in as he hummed, his hand rubbing softly up and down his leg. 

Bruce threw his head back and whined, a helpless noise, and the feeling of heat was building, along with a furious mixture of joy, bewilderment, anticipation, and fear. He clung to Clint’s shoulder harder, and tried to remember the number, but his brain wouldn’t work. “Ah - w - wait,” he managed. 

Clint immediately pulled off as he had promised, hand stilling but remaining on his leg, not sure what to do or say, so he sat quietly, waiting for Bruce to tell him what to do, concerned for the man. 

Bruce took a moment just to breathe, to let his brain reassert itself. It was OK. Everything was OK. He just had to pick something simpler than factoring, like counting the ceiling panels. He was NOT going to lose control. He needed to give this a fair chance, for Clint, and for himself. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, looking at Clint. “I just needed a minute. I’m ready now.” 

“Okay,” he said, his hand beginning to move again. “Should I do something else, or…?” 

“I don’t think there’s going to be an easier way,” Bruce said. “But then, this isn’t exactly something I have a lot of experience with, you know?” He put a hand to his face, breathing in deeply, then sighing. Then he shrugged a bit. “No, the same thing is probably better. Just getting used to things will help, I think.” 

Clint smiled. “No objections here.” He winked before taking Bruce back into his mouth, picking up where he had left off. 

Bruce moaned; it was still a lot to process, but this time he knew what to expect, and he managed to keep a little distance between himself and the most intense feelings. He stroked Clint’s neck, kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and reminded himself that he could do this. 

Clint hummed around Bruce as he proceeded to take the man deeper into his mouth, his hands moving to rub Bruce’s inner thighs softly. 

Bruce firmly suppressed his need to move, to increase the wonderful soft friction and pressure by lifting his hips; he kept them on the bed, and instead expressed his need in words and noises - “Ahhh, yes, okay, yes, more?” - and careful hands in Clint’s hair. 

Clint moaned as an answer; he relaxed his throat before swiftly taking Bruce in all the way. 

Bruce gasped; he couldn’t hold back from moving this time, his whole body arching. “Agh, Clint, I-y-yes,” the sounds escaped between quick breaths. The feeling of heat and immediacy was building again, along with euphoria and an awed disbelief, but he managed to keep just an edge of focus this time, and panic didn’t join the rush of feelings. 

Clint gave a long moan at that. The noises Bruce made were intoxicating to him; he wanted to keep hearing them, and with that in mind he began humming continuously. 

It was too much - or just enough, maybe, that added edge - and Bruce cried out, moving a hand to the bed so he could clutch at the sheets without restraint, without thought, without fear of hurting Clint. His whole body twisted and shivered with the force of what he was feeling, and he came. 

Clint couldn’t help but swallow, not that he minded, he pulled off of Bruce with a smile. “You good, Doc?” he asked, his voice somewhat hoarse. He reached a hand under his sweats to take care of himself. 

Bruce was still breathing hard, and it was difficult to make himself move. He managed to nod, but there was one thing he was definitely missing. “Come here,” he said to Clint, reaching out an arm to tug him closer. 

Clint raised an eyebrow but came closer as told. 

Bruce kissed Clint, the motion intense despite its laziness, and he pulled him down to lay beside him, hands sliding down the archer’s body. “I want to help with that. Can I?” 

Clint nodded quickly. “Yes. _Hell_ yes,” he breathed out, giving Bruce a short but intense kiss. 

Bruce smiled, the glow of satisfaction much more real now that he had Clint beside him properly. His hand sought out Clint’s erection and explored it thoroughly before settling in to stroke it. At the same time, he continued kissing Clint, slow but deep. 

Clint gave a ragged moan, unable to stop himself from bucking into the touch. “Bruce,” he gasped out. “ _Please_.” Not even sure what it was he was asking for, just that he needed it. 

Bruce pulled him closer, so that their chests were pressed together and he was now kissing Clint’s neck and shoulder. His hand tightened, speeding up in its movements, changing them slightly and paying attention to the sound of Clint’s breath in his ear. 

Clint clung to Bruce tightly, his nails digging into Bruce’s back somewhat. “Close,” he whispered in Bruce’s ear. “So close.” 

Bruce held Clint tighter, biting his neck not quite gently and moving his hand faster. He wanted so much to see this through, to watch Clint let go, let himself enjoy this. “Yes,” he murmured. “Come on.” 

Between Bruce’s strokes, his body so close, his lips, his teeth. Everything. It didn’t take much more until Clint was coming, shouting Bruce’s name. 

Bruce held him, loving the way he breathed and the way he shook, the way Bruce’s name sounded when it came out of his mouth like that. He kissed Clint’s neck again, lazily, and let the moment settle over him. 

After a few deep, shaky breaths, Clint’s breathing was close enough to normal. He didn’t let go of Bruce, just rested his head on his shoulder. “That was… pretty amazing,” he said after a minute or so of silence. 

“Mmmm,” Bruce agreed. “I can’t believe I did that. Your idiotic risk-taking must be rubbing off on me. But,” he said, “it turns out it was worth the risk.” He ran his fingers through Clint’s hair, smiling a bit. 

Clint smiled. “Mmmm, I definitely don’t mind being idiotic if this is the result,” he said before leaning up to give him a slow lazy kiss. 

Bruce’s lips lingered for a long time on Clint’s, enjoying this new comfortableness allowed by the knowledge that they could get what they wanted out of this relationship, and the closeness that they had gained from the experience. Then he leaned back to look at Clint. “You know, maybe it is instinct,” he said. “Maybe you really do know things I don’t, and couldn’t, because my brain doesn’t work like yours.” 

“Maybe,” he said with a small smile. “Personally, I think you give me a bit too much credit.” He laughed softly, pressing another soft kiss on his lips before putting his head back down. 

“I don’t know, I’m starting to think that being a superhero just means doing crazy things and getting very lucky when they don’t go horribly wrong at exactly the right time for everyone to notice.” 

Clint laughed. “Sounds like a pretty apt description to me, Freckles.” 

“So really, none of us are all that great at being smart. Just lucky.” 

Clint nodded. “The fact that after everything each of us has gone through, and everything we’ve faced together, we’re still alive and relatively unharmed, I’d say we’re the luckiest unlucky people of all time.” 

Bruce smiled. “We are, aren’t we?” he mused. “I’ve spent a lot of my life believing that I’d never be happy to be me, that I’d rather have just about anybody else’s life. But right now, I wouldn’t trade the life I have for anything.” 

Clint smiled, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Happy to hear it.” 

Bruce lay back contentedly, intertwining his fingers with Clint’s. After a moment he said, “Do you _actually_ want to stay in bed all day? Because at some point I would like some food, and also you didn’t eat much last night, and also ice and pills for you. But mostly I just can’t picture it, because when I stay in bed all day, I usually end up reading speculative fiction and/or scientific journals.” 

Clint smiled. “Nah, as nice as it sounds it’s a bit unrealistic,” he admitted. “And I probably couldn’t stay put that long either.” 

“No, that doesn’t actually seem much like you,” Bruce said, smirking a bit. “It’s kind of nice to have the option to stay in bed all day, though. I guess it’s a conceptual thing. It represents that we can do whatever we want.” He looked over at Clint. “So what do you want to do?” 

“Well I’m guessing my hard ass of a doctor is not going to let me go to the range today,” he said with a smirk. “I do have an idea of something we can do and relax.” 

“Nope, no archery today.” Bruce took Clint’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it again. “What’s your plan?” 

“You and I could chill out on the couch together, have a Star Wars marathon, or watch something else if you’d prefer,” he suggested with a one sided shrug. 

“Star Wars is good,” Bruce said, nodding. “What are your thoughts on the prequels?” 

“Nowhere _near_ as good as the originals but necessary for a marathon,” he said without hesitation. 

“Ah, okay. I’ve never seen them. I was kind of… off the grid when they came out. But there’s a guy in one of the physics forums I’ve been haunting that insists you have to watch them in non-chronological order, with two and three between five and six. Even suggests skipping episode one entirely if you’re… easily aggravated.” 

Clint laughed. “Well, we can watch the Original Saga and then make the call when we get to Phantom Menace.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “So you’d watch by release date rather than in-universe chronology? If we’re going to be non-chronological I’d kind of like to try the order that I read about.” Then he laughed at himself. “Sorry, it seems you’ve awakened my opinionated geek personality. Haven’t really had much use for it since college.” 

“In my Star Wars geek opinion there are two ways to have a marathon. Chronologically or release date. You can choose which one.” 

“Nope. Can’t do it. The data I have suggests an order that’s neither of those. Since you have more data, you’ll have to choose.” 

Clint laughed. He liked this side of Bruce; then again he liked all sides of Bruce so far, so that wasn’t exactly a surprise. “Personal preference for a marathon is chronological.” 

Bruce shrugged, continuing to kiss Clint’s hand between sentences, gently biting one of the knuckles. “All right, we’ll start with Episode One and I’ll just try not to lose it at whatever horrible travesty my online friends tried to warn me about.” He chuckled. “But for that herculean task, I’m going to require food. Feel like anything in particular?” 

Clint chuckled. “You know I’m not picky when it comes to food, Doc; so long as it tastes good I’ll eat it.” 

Bruce shook his head ruefully. “Food is important,” he said. “But if you really don’t have any preferences? I’m going to have to see what’s the strangest thing I can get you to eat. Nothing too slimy. though.” The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly mischievously. “Although now I’m really curious as to how you’d react to chia fresca.” 

Clint made a face at the mention of slimy food but nodded. “Strange but unslimy food sounds great, Doc.” 

Bruce chuckled. “Right, no chia fresca, then. Slowly but surely gathering data. It’s really great nutritionally, but the texture… takes some getting used to.” He sat up a little, rolling his shoulders to stretch them. “I think I want greasy food today. Eggs, bacon and cheese, maybe hash browns.” 

“Mmm, that sounds good,” Clint agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed now. “I should probably go to my room,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Get dressed and all that boring stuff.” 

“Might be advisable,” Bruce said, smiling. “Meet you in the kitchen?” 

He nodded, giving Bruce a quick kiss before standing up. “See you there, Doc,” he said with a smirk. 

Bruce went into the bathroom to clean up a bit and do morning things. He ended up avoiding his reflection, especially the eyes, until he was in the middle of shaving and he couldn’t any more. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked his reflection. It didn’t answer him, just stared back, angry, defiant and desperate. Told him that there was too much of him, too much of the Hulk invested in this to turn back now. That he’d said things, and meant them, and he was going to try to go through with them no matter what his reason was telling him right now. He glared at his reflection for a moment. “All right, fine,” he muttered at it finally, and continued shaving. “Have it your way. Guess you didn’t learn the lesson well enough before.” 

Clint couldn’t help but smile as he got ready. He didn’t delude himself into thinking things would be perfect, he and Bruce had a lot of things to make this harder, most of it their own issues. But god if Bruce wasn’t worth it. 

He winced as he put on a shirt but the pain didn’t lessen his mood. 

Bruce rubbed at his face with a towel, more harshly than necessary, just trying to get the feelings of guilt and fear and indecision to subside. It was better once he got out of range of the mirrors, and he could focus on getting dressed and what he was going to cook for breakfast. 

He went up to the kitchen, first getting out potatoes for hash browns and mushrooms and onions to put in omelettes. He chopped all of it up small, then put the potatoes in a bowl of water to soak, and the mushrooms and onions in a pan on the stove, and then dug the eggs out of the fridge. 

Clint grabbed his collectors edition of all the Star Wars movies; he figured Tony probabaly had them, but better safe than sorry. 

He checked in the mirror quickly before he left; he had yet to see the extent of his injuries. He looked fine for the most part, a few shallow cuts on his face and arms, his side was a bit more gruesome than the rest of him but Bruce had done a great job. All in all, definitely not the worst he had looked. 

Bruce drained the potatoes and laid them out on paper towels, mixed up eggs for the omelettes, and started a new pan heating for bacon. He loved getting lost in the multiple strings of tasks, weighing priorities for what to do next, always having something to keep track of. It was as distracting as science, and if the results had a smaller scope, they were still important. He had a thought and decided to pre-cook the potatoes in the microwave just a bit before frying them. Then he stood watch at the stove while one omelette, the bacon, and the kettle all sat over different amounts of heat. 

When Clint reached the kitchen, Bruce was caught up in cooking. Deciding not to disturb him, he set the movies on the counter before sitting and quietly observing and letting his mind go blank for a bit. 

Bruce flipped the bacon, covered the first omelet in cheese, poured hot water into a teapot, got the potatoes out of the microwave, plated the first omelet and started the second, took the bacon out of the pan and put the potatoes straight into the hot grease left behind. Somewhere in the flurry of observations, calculations and decisions, the facts of Clint’s presence and relaxed expression had registered and been filed under ‘not in immediate need of attention.’ Now that he had a minute, though, he smiled at Clint. “Hey,” he said. 

Clint was snapped out of his non-thoughts and smiled. “Hey, smells good.” 

“Thanks.” Bruce flipped the omelet and stirred the potatoes. “Should be ready soon. Should we go all out and have some fancy ketchup with this?” he said with a tiny playful smile. 

“Gourmet, oh Freckles, you spoil me,” Clint said with a grin. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

Bruce chuckled as he covered the second omelette with cheese and began to put potatoes on the plates. “I was a cook in a diner once,” he said. “The kind of place with cheap food on a busy corner, so all kinds of people came in at all hours to eat. It’s interesting, the way some people have set habits with their food and always have to eat it a certain way, and other people are always trying new things, looking for something different. I think the most memorable thing I ever saw there was a girl dipping her fries in orange marmalade.” 

He chuckled. “Wow, that is weird. I knew this girl in the circus who dipped her twinkies in ranch dressing. I never got how she could destroy such a wonderful treat.” He smiled. 

Bruce made a pained face. “I’m not sure how much of my disgust is the combination, and how much is the fact that I don’t particularly like Twinkies _or_ ranch dressing.” He slid the second omelet onto its plate, then turned to get ketchup and tea cups. 

“You don’t like Twinkies? Blasphemy, that’s what that is, Doc,” he said with a smirk. “I also knew a guy while I was a bow for hire, a bit of a pain in the ass, who had this obsession with Mexican food and went through a phase where he put hot sauce in _everything_. From cereal to ice cream, it was ridiculous.” 

“Wouldn’t that make the milk curdle?” Bruce asked with a bemused frown. “Ice cream, I can see, if it’s the right flavor. Hot pepper and chocolate are a great combination.” He began carrying everything over to the table. 

“That’s exactly what it did. Wade didn’t care, though; then again he was insane so,” he gave a one shoulder shrug before standing up. “Need some help with all that, Doc?” 

“Sure, you can grab the food,” Bruce said, coming back for the teapot and a handful of silverware. “I guess if he enjoyed it, that’s all that matters. Nothing wrong with eating curdled milk.” 

Clint grabbed the food, placing it on the table. “Yeah, I guess; I learned pretty early just not to question anything with him.” He gave another one shoulder shrug. “So, did you have any other interesting jobs?” he asked, trying to change the subject. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk about his days as a mercenary. 

Bruce immediately recognized the look in his eyes that was a desperate need to think about something else. “All kinds of things. Worked in a tannery once. Probably the stinkiest place I’ve ever been, and that’s saying something. For a while it was just whatever needed doing wherever I happened to be, something to keep my hands busy and money in my pockets while I tried to figure out how to stop the transformation.” He sat down and poured himself some tea. “The last while, since I pretty much gave up on that, have been the most interesting. Chasing patterns in medical problems in places where the people really don’t have that much to lose. Trying to use my brain to help other people, maybe balance out the fact that I’m always endangering them.” He winced a bit. “Anyway, from my perspective, none of it compares to working with Tony. Keeps me busy, doing things that are going to help a lot of people, and always new ideas to play with.” 

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, I’d imagine working with him could keep _anyone_ busy. Don’t imagine a lot of dull moments.” 

“It’s interesting, with my specialties in radiation and biochemistry and his in engineering and programming, you wouldn’t think we’d find a lot to work on together. But with all the things I’ve picked up - something from most branches of medicine, and enough mechanical and electrical engineering to make myself useful anywhere that uses any complex equipment - and what he’s had to learn, to put himself back together, and to make sure his suit protects him, we always seem to find something.” Bruce smiled. “It’s a relief to always have a puzzle to work at, but I’d kind of forgotten what it’s like to have someone who’s actually interested in the human part of me - whatever’s left of it.” 

“I think there’s a lot more of it than you seem to think, Doc,” Clint said with a small gentle smile. 

“Hmm.” Bruce scrubbed the fingers of one hand through his hair, then looked up at Clint, a bit of a helpless smile on his face. “You’d be one of the few people to think that, then.” 

Clint didn’t want to get into the conversation of his and Bruce’s opposing opinions on the subject again so he simply shrugged and took a bite of the potatoes. “Mmm, seriously, Doc, you’re gonna get me used to all this home cooked food. The fast food industry will weep to lose such a loyal customer,” he said with a smirk. 

Bruce chuckled at that. “Not the worst thing that could happen,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll limp on somehow without your business.” He also began to eat. 

“Maybe, it’s gonna be a big blow though,” he said with a smirk as he took another bite. 

Bruce nodded, and settled in to appreciate the indulgent mess of bacon and cheese in front of him. When he was with Clint, everything seemed simpler, more obvious, and he was starting to believe (if only sometimes) that the fight he was in for the life he wanted was one he might actually win. And if he couldn’t, well, at least right now he had peace, and cheesy eggs.


End file.
